


Dancing with the Devil

by scarletdahlia



Category: Adore You - Harry Styles (Song), Falling - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bottom Harry, Boys In Love, Drugs, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guns, Happy Ending, Hurt Harry Styles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of overdosing, Prostitution, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence, it's sad in the beginning but it gets better i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:41:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 101,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29712495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletdahlia/pseuds/scarletdahlia
Summary: Harry's life was bound to be a nightmare since he was born into a family of gamblers and addicts. He had to sell his body at the age of seventeen to avoid dying from starvation and to keep scary men from blowing his mother's head off with a gun.At the very least, Harry's life is cursed, and nothing could break it.That is until he meets Aaron, a graduating student with kind eyes and soft touches—things Harry has gone without for far too long. During the rare occasions when Harry isn't pinned to a mattress at the mercy of a stranger’s rough hands, he finds himself spending time amongst people his own age and plays the role of an ordinary nineteen-year-old, trying to make his fantasy last as long as he can.As fate would have it, it doesn't last very long at all.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom has a disappointing lack of long, plot-driven Harry/OMC fics and I have come to remedy that as best as I can. After months and months of whining about how there are barely any Harry/OMC fics, I've decided to make it my mission to write one for the past two months. So, here it is!
> 
> Please be warned that this story explores dark and triggering topics such as rape, prostitution, and violence, so please proceed with caution and read the tags! This isn't just a story about abuse, it is also one of recovery and healing.
> 
> I hope you like it :)
> 
> Say hi on tumblr: scarletdahliaao3  
> (Title from "Dancing with the Devil" by NIKI)

**PART I**

Harry always wonders how different his life could be if he'd been just a bit luckier.

"Unlucky" isn't an accurate word to describe his life, either, because unlucky means missing the bus just as it leaves the station, or getting your name picked out first for a graded recitation in class that you had no idea about. "Unlucky" would be an understatement for being born into a family of gamblers and addicts that you had to sell your body at the age of seventeen to avoid dying from starvation or watching scary men blow your mother's head off with a gun.

At the very least, Harry is cursed, and no amount of luck could break it.

"Watch it!" A bicycle dashes past him just as he's about to cross the street, its rider shouting obscenities at Harry even though he's nearly half a block away from him now.

Harry tugs his coat jacket tighter around his body, surging forward into the cold night as people bustle alongside him in a rush. It's 10 PM and while everyone around him is heading home, his night is only just starting.

He takes a cab on his way to the hotel and shoots a text off to Logan, telling him he's on his way. The driver tries to engage him in small talk and Harry barely responds to his questions about traffic and the weather, effectively shutting him up a few minutes into the ride.

 _Good. Text me immediately if you need anything,_ comes Logan's reply. Harry puts his phone away and fidgets with the ring on his finger. It's one of the extra efforts he does for his regulars. The more he sleeps with them, the more he gets to know what they like—their kinks, what turns them on, little changes Harry can do here and there that can keep them coming back. Tonight's client likes to have gentle, slow sex and likes to call him every pet name in the book. He likes it when Harry wears a specific perfume, likes to taste Harry's cherry-flavored lip gloss, and loves holding his hand whether or not they're having sex. The wedding band is just a little something to complete the illusion of a domestic life.

Harry pays the driver and rushes inside the hotel. At this point, the receptionist is already familiar with his face, since he's been here for every week of the last four months. Harry opens his mouth, but the receptionist only holds up a finger and mouths "one second," before typing something on her computer. When she looks back up, she gives him that robotic smile you always see in places like this, and says, "Mr. Preston says you can come right up. Room 367."

Harry mumbles a thanks and hops onto the elevator. He's the only passenger, so he quickly checks himself out on the door's shiny reflection. He undoes his bun and runs his fingers through hair, the locks curling around his jawline and neck. He debates putting on a new layer of Preston's favorite lip gloss, but then the elevator dings, and he shuffles into the corner as a group of formally-dressed men and women join him inside. He stares at his black boots from then on, only looking up when he's at Preston's floor.

The first thing Preston does when he opens the door is to pull Harry in for a kiss, soft and sweet at first, and then he's licking into his mouth hungrily. Harry can taste alcohol on his tongue, can tell that there won't be a fancy dinner tonight as Preston shoves the door closed and presses him against it, effectively trapping his body.

"Hey, baby," Preston pulls away to grin at him. Harry can tell he's tipsy at most, which calms his nerves down a bit. 

"Hi," Harry says, tracing his day-old scruff with his finger. Harry can see the remnants of Preston's beauty and has always known that he must've been very handsome when he was younger. Now, in his mid-forties, there are crinkles in the corners of his eyes even when his face is slack, his hair graying at the roots and body not as built as it probably was before, but Harry still looks at him like he's the most attractive man he's ever laid eyes on. 

Preston loves it, of course. Playing the role that each client expects from him is one of the most important parts of the job. The breath is knocked out of Harry's lungs when Preston dives in again for another kiss, harder and messier this time, so Harry lets himself melt against the door and falls pliant as Preston's hands cup his bum and teasingly dips his finger into his pants.

"Take me to bed, please," Harry murmurs against his lips.

Preston doesn't need to be told twice. He pushes Harry's coat off his shoulders and lets Harry jump onto him, wrapping his thighs around Preston's hips as Preston carries him to bed. In a flash, they're both undressed, and Harry is pressed into the mattress as Preston kisses his neck, lubed fingers probing into him.

Preston is less thorough tonight than he usually is, probably because he's drunk and too horny. Harry bites down a pained gasp when Preston fits in three fingers inside him. The stretch stings enough to make his eyes water, but Harry merely moans to cover up his grimace and pulls Preston's face back up so he can kiss him some more.

As Preston fucks him hard and fast, Harry hears his own theatrical moans as if from a distance. Preston is hovering over him, his hair sticking to his forehead from sweat, but Harry's staring at the small crack in the otherwise pristine ceiling. He wonders how a five-star-hotel could have ceilings as flawed as this one. The bed creaks noisily, and Harry finds himself wondering how much Preston would have to pay the hotel if they ended up breaking the bed.

Harry hits his head on the headboard every time Preston thrusts. They're both breathing hard, Harry's legs thrown over his shoulders at this point, making it even harder for him to breathe. 

"So good, so good," Preston says again and again.

Harry's still staring at the small crack in the ceiling when Preston comes, his body going rigid for a few seconds, and then he collapses on top of Harry, his entire body weight making it impossible for Harry to do anything but lie there. When he pulls out, he lies down next to Harry and kisses him again. Harry nearly flinches when he feels a warm hand wrap around his dick, but then he gives into the feeling as Preston pulls him off until he comes.

Preston truly is one of his better clients. Most would fuck him like a ragdoll and leave him without a second glance once they've finished, but Preston is kind.

"Love you," Preston murmurs against his lips.

Harry knows those words aren't for him, knows that it's all pretend, so he smiles up at him and says, "I love you, too."

×××

It's 6 in the morning and Harry's mind is floating as he walks back to Logan's apartment. The paper bag he's clutching to his chest is warm, making him yearn for a long nap under a pile of blankets even more. His body aches everywhere and he feels like he could collapse on the pavement and fall asleep right there. Perhaps someone will walk by and wake him up before the authorities find him. Or perhaps a truck will run him over and think it was just a road hump.

The apartment complex comes into view, making him sigh in relief. It's a good enough place, especially if you're someone like Harry who's lucky enough to even get to sleep somewhere with a roof and four walls.

He types in the security passcode at the gate and jogs up the stairs. His neighbors walk past him and he ignores their gazes, keeping his eyes stuck on the ground. When he makes it to their apartment, he clumsily feels for his keys in his pockets and fishes it out. Before he can put it to use, the door swings open.

"You're late," Logan says.

Harry can't read his tone, but there's a ghost of a smile on Logan's face, making Harry relax a bit. Harry tries for a timid smile and holds out the McDonald's take out as an offering. "Breakfast?"

Luckily, Logan smiles and pulls him inside. They sit at the kitchen island and share lukewarm coffees and pancakes. Harry isn't even that hungry—he'd rather take a shower and go straight to bed to sleep through the day, but he knows Logan wouldn't like that, so he forces himself to swallow as much food as he can.

Logan fills in the silence, talking about how busy he's going to be in the next few weeks, and how "that fucker from ninth avenue" is going to get his brain blown to bits if he doesn't pay up, and how his car needs another repair. Harry listens intently, nodding and commenting wherever he deems appropriate. He fights his sleepiness as best as he can. He wants nothing more than to take a hot shower and scrub himself raw before diving into bed and not existing for the next few hours, but Logan hates it when he can tell he's not listening, so Harry does everything but think about sleep.

"How's the traffic, by the way?" Logan asks him, reaching over the table for a napkin. Harry's brain is clouded and his eyes are trained on Logan's tattooed arm that he nearly misses the question.

"It was okay. It was worse last week, so," Harry says with a shrug.

"Then why are you late? You're usually done by 5 AM." Logan looks at him, and no matter how much time Harry spends with this man, he can never get used to his hard, searing gaze. Logan isn't even mad—Harry should be celebrating that Logan seems to be in a good mood today, but instead he feels like one wrong move will set him off and Harry will have to deal with the consequences for the rest of the week.

"Not many people were around. I had to look for some Johns in other areas," Harry explains, keeping his tone steady but also trying to sound as timid as possible.

Logan considers this for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. It's probably because the holidays are approaching. People are heading home, mostly."

Harry nods. Which is why Harry had to find a more populated spot to stand around in his skimpy shorts for hours on end, hopping into several different back seats before shakily counting the balled-up cash tucked into his pants and heading home. Reaching the quota is always the hardest part, especially during days like this when there aren't that many people willing to pay for a quick fuck, and when Harry feels like he isn't even properly awake. He walks around hoping to bait some fish, gives them what they want and gets damp, crumpled bills in return, but it all feels like he's watching everything from afar.

"Here," Harry pulls out his earnings for the night and puts it down on the table. He's counted and recounted it several times just to make sure he really did reach the quota, because sometimes he doesn't know how to count properly and it annoys the fuck out of Logan.

Logan thumbs through the wad of cash while Harry sits there like a dog waiting on its owner. Logan pockets the money and looks back at Harry. For a moment, Harry is a hundred percent certain that he somehow did something to annoy Logan, but then he smiles.

"Very good."

"Thank you," Harry says.

Logan takes his phone out and starts tapping on the screen, so Harry takes that as his cue to go. Harry walks towards the bedroom, but then an arm wraps around his waist and pulls his back flush against a sturdy chest.

"Where are you going?" Logan's breath smells of coffee.

Harry freezes immediately. "I was going to rest."

"Not yet, you aren't." Logan spins him around so that they're face to face. Harry is reminded of how tall Logan is as he's faced with Logan's stubble-covered chin.

"Right. Sorry. I thought—"

"Shh. Wait for me on the bed."

Harry does as told, undressing before sitting down at the foot of the bed. Logan follows not long after, his muscles rippling as he tugs his shirt off. Harry ignores the wave of fear that runs through his body.

"You're one of the best, you know that, Harry?" Logan says, standing in front of him. Harry peers up at him, nodding. "Do you promise to keep this up?"

Harry nods again. Logan clenches his jaw and grabs his chin. "Talk."

"Yes," Harry says over the dryness of his throat. "I promise."

"Good." Logan unbuckles his belt. "You know what I'll have to do if you break it, right?"

"Yes," Harry says again, throat feeling tight. 

"Good. Open your mouth."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut as Logan's half-hard cock fills his mouth. Harry blocks everything out then. Before, he thought it meant something that he lived with his pimp. He thought it meant he was a favorite, or that Logan must like him or pity him at the very least, seeing as Harry was one of the youngest during that time. Now he knows it's just so Logan can keep a close eye on him. He never thought he'd envy those who live in the shitty house near the river, the "whorehouse" as Logan always said. They're packed like sardines in there, with no privacy and personal space. Clothes are stolen, the food is never properly divided, and they're treated like animals in a barn. Harry lived there for the first few months he was working for Logan. He remembers being over the moon when Logan told him he'd be living with him in his apartment from then on. Looking back, Harry can only laugh at himself.

Harry is snapped back to reality when Logan runs a thumb over his bottom lip. Suddenly, he's on his back on the bed, with Logan straddling his chest. There's come on his face and in his hair. Logan is grinning down at him.

"Good boy."

After he leaves the room, Harry walks to the bathroom for a warm shower. He throws up in the toilet a few minutes later, tears gathering at his eyes, his skin damp and sticky with different men's come and sweat and spit. The thought makes him throw up again.

When he's done, he climbs into the shower and cleans himself as best as he can. It never really works, but there's comfort in scrubbing his skin so hard that it turns into an angry shade of red. Even then, it's not clean enough. It never is.

×××

On the rare occasion that Harry isn't pinned to a mattress under rough hands, he spends his time amongst people his own age and plays the role of an ordinary nineteen-year-old.

There's a coffee shop a good distance from Logan's apartment called "Caffeinated." He has to ride a cab to get there, but he likes that he's far away from the center of his hell. He likes to know that people can't easily find him here. He found the place on his own one morning when his client randomly dropped him off at an unfamiliar street after fucking him in the back seat and shoving the crumpled bills into his mouth. Since then, he found himself returning there on his own. It's his safe haven, if he dares to think that those exist, because of its warm, comforting aura and comfy couches. The warm drinks and buttery pastries are heaven sent, as well as the kind baristas and staff that don't mind having a kid in ratty clothes in their shop nearly the entire day, sometimes even up until closing time.

The bell dings as he pushes through the door and he's immediately greeted with the bittersweet aroma of coffee, accompanied by a gush of warmth. It's a Wednesday night, and as usual, the place is filled with university students hunched over the tiny desks, stacks of papers and books taking up most of the table compared to their single cup of coffee or a single plate of croissant.

Harry walks with his head down towards the cashier. Thankfully, there isn't a line, so he reaches for his money in his pocket and pretends to choose from the menu displayed above despite knowing that he'll just end up ordering the same thing again.

"Hi, Harry. Nice to see you again," comes a sweet, familiar voice. Casey is beaming at him, looking chipper despite the obvious exhaustion in her eyes. 

"Hi," Harry smiles thinly. 

"Your usual, then?" Casey asks, but she's already moving around behind the counter to prepare his order.

Harry laughs quietly. "Yes. Thanks."

Maybe being somewhat familiar with the people here added to the comfort of the place. He started regularly visiting this café a good three months ago, and it was Casey's same blinding smile that greeted him the first time. At this point, he also knows Tommy, the other barista, who also happens to be Casey's boyfriend. Then there are two pimply college kids who take the next shift. They're not as bubbly as Casey, but they're definitely more talkative than Tommy. 

"Busy today? I hear the finals week is approaching," Casey says as she places his tray on the counter. As usual, there's his cup of black coffee and a single glazed donut. 

Harry shrugs. "Yeah."

It's weird when you know that the person in front of you isn't looking at you like a piece of meat, or that they aren't looking down on their noses at you, thinking of you as a dirty whore. Nobody in the café knows who he is or what he does for a living. It makes him feel lighter, though there's always that niggling thought at the back of his mind telling him that they _must_ know, they can probably tell from the way he moves and speaks and even _looks_ at people. It's a constant fear to bump into one of his clients and shatter the delusion he's created, but so far, nothing like that has happened yet, and he hopes it stays that way.

"Good luck," Casey says, grinning. "I'm glad I'm done with university, really. Never gonna miss it."

Harry pays for his food. "Yeah. It's pretty stressful."

"It's all worth it in the end, though, isn't it?" Casey hands over his change and receipt.

Harry nods. "I hope so. Thanks."

"No problem. Enjoy!"

Harry finds an empty table by the window and sits down. He warms his hands up with his coffee, glancing around the shop curiously. Other than students cramming for their final papers and exams, there are a few well-suited men having a meeting. There's a pair of old ladies laughing loudly in one corner, and a family in one of the big tables. Harry pulls out his moleskin journal from under his coat and puts it on the table. It'll make him look much more like a student doing homework rather than a prostitute on his day off.

It's a miracle that he even _has_ a day off. In the beginning, he didn't, as did all of the other whores. It was a few months into living with Logan that Logan suggested that he choose a single day per week to rest. Harry remembers being so astounded that it took him a couple seconds to randomly choose Wednesday as his day off. None of Logan's other prostitutes know about his special treatment, of course, because the fact that he's living in his pimp's apartment is enough for everyone to think he's Logan's favorite whore. Or personal toy. Or home bitch. There's a lot of variation.

Harry tells himself it's because he's always been good and obedient and barely messes up when it comes to bringing Logan his money that he's been given the privilege of having day for himself. He tells himself that he deserves it and he should be happy that he doesn't have his face shoved against a car's leather back seat right now and is instead enjoying a cup of coffee in peace. But there's always that heaviness in the pit of his stomach, a constant reminder that no matter what, he still has to return to Logan's apartment and sell his ass the next day. There's a bit of a torture to it—giving him a taste of what it might be like if he was free and then immediately snatching it away from him before he even gets the hang of it.

Harry quietly sips his coffee as he doodles on the margins of his journal. He used to be quite a good artist when he was younger. He remembers telling anyone who would listen that he wanted to be a cartoonist when he grew up.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, making him flinch in surprise. He pulls out his flip phone and as expected, it's a text from Logan.

_where are you?_

He replies, _I'm just having a coffee_

_where?_

Harry doesn't want to tell him where he is, so he texts back, _i already left the café, do you need anything?_

Harry has already lost his barely-there appetite. He forces himself to finish his coffee despite how it scalds his tongue.

 _buy us some beer and come home early,_ Logan says.

Harry ignores the ball of dread in his stomach. He likes to spend as much time as he can away from Logan. It makes him sick, but he'd rather be sucking a stranger's dick in a dark back alley than stay with Logan while he gets drunk.

Harry texts back an "ok" before standing up and bringing his untouched donut back to the counter. He'll just ask for a paper bag and pretend he got it for Logan.

"Can I help you?"

Harry isn't expecting to see a stranger behind the counter that he ends up blinking at him a couple of times. Usually, Tommy should be alongside Casey whenever he's here. Instead, it's a new barista.

Harry clears his throat. "Yeah. Um, can I get a paper bag? I'm just going to take this donut home."

"Sure thing," the man flashes him a smile before reaching below the counter for a small paper bag and a pair of tongs.

Harry is momentarily distracted by his phone, seeing as Logan has sent in several texts already, asking him why he's taking so long. Harry bites his lip and texts him back, telling him there's a traffic jam and apologizing.

"Here you go," the new barista says, making Harry's head snap up.

Harry takes the paper bag and forces a tight-lipped smile. "Sorry about that. And thank you."

"You're welcome. Have a good one," the man says.

Harry barely has time to say "you too!" before he's rushing out of the café, the ends of his coat immediately blown back by the wind when he makes it outside. He hails a cab and stops by a convenience store to buy Logan his alcohol, and then he's practically sprinting up the stairs to his apartment with two packs of beer and a donut clutched in his hands. The door is ajar when he arrives, and when he pushes it open, he finds Logan and several of his friends all sprawled out on the sofa, cigarettes and joints being passed between them.

"There she is!" one of the men says, earning a round of laughter and whistling from the others.

Harry ducks his head and places the beer on the table. He feels stupid giving Logan a single donut, so he quickly makes his way to the kitchen instead to save it for himself later. Logan and his friends are talking and laughing boisterously from the living room, and it's almost enough to distract him from the entire slice of red velvet cake beside his take-out donut. Harry's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. He didn't buy a slice of cake from the café, did he?

Then, there's a note on the napkin on top of the container: _This one's on the house! :)_

It takes Harry a while to realize that this must've been written by the new barista earlier. The man's face flashes in his mind—kind eyes, scruff-covered jaw, deep voice—and he finds himself taking the note and putting it in his pocket. He manages to put the donut and cake in the fridge before he hears Logan's voice from the living room.

"Harry! Come out here and join us."

Harry doesn't even register what's going to happen, even though it has happened enough times in the past that he should've seen it coming. Still, he sits down next to Logan and lets them stick a joint in his mouth until everything's just a bit softer around the edges, wisps of white smoke curling through the air.

"You got this one at your every beck and call, don't you," one of Logan's friends—his name is Gavin, Harry thinks—says as he sits down on Harry's other side. Gavin takes the joint from Harry's lips and replaces it with his own. 

"He's a good one," Harry distantly hears Logan say. Gavin pulls him into his lap and Harry feels weightless as his body is moved around however they liked.

"Hmm," someone huffs. "Got any chicks, though? Your boy's pretty and all but he ain't got no pussy."

"He's got an ass. Does it matter if he's a guy? A hole's a hole, isn't it?" someone answers, followed by laughter.

Harry's eyes have drifted shut already. Gavin's hands are all over him—down his chest, his nipples, his arms, his thighs, his ass. A conversation keeps going on in the background and Harry hears his name several times but doesn't care to pay attention anymore. These men will continue to talk about him like he's not even in the room and Harry doesn't want to hear it.

It doesn't take long before Logan instructs him to bend over the table. Harry clenches his eyes shut as his jeans are forcefully pulled off, and then someone's finger is pressing into him. Harry wishes he was much more high than he is now, since all he feels is a pleasant buzz from the weed and it's barely enough to numb his senses. A loud slap makes him flinch, and it takes him a few seconds to realize that someone had just spanked him. There's laughter, there's chatter, there's a groan in his ear as someone drapes himself over Harry's back and bites at his earlobe.

It hurts when someone slips into him, but Harry bites his lip and presses his cheek to the wooden table. Vaguely, he catches a glimpse of Logan as he sits down beside Harry on the table, running a hand through his hair. It feels oddly intimate when Logan does things like this—like stroke a finger down his cheek or caress his jaw. Sometimes he even leaves a feather light kiss on his temple. All of that is a stark contrast to how he hands Harry over to strangers and his own friends like a toy, or how when he's pissed off about something, he takes it out on Harry.

Logan gets him last, like always. He practically tosses Harry to the floor, star-fished on the stained carpet, and fucks into him mercilessly. Harry's so unbelievably sore, but he's had worse, so he muffles his pained groans into Logan's chest and clutches desperately onto his arms. 

Harry doesn't remember when it ends or when Logan's friends leave, but the next time he's conscious, he's already in bed with a duvet pulled up to his neck. Logan is beside him with an arm tossed over his waist, snoring softly against the back of his neck.

Harry's last thought of the night is about that new barista from the café who gave him a free red velvet cake with a note as his heavy, sore body finally pulls him under.

He ceases to exist for a few hours. It's heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

On Friday, Logan takes Harry to the whorehouse.

That's not really what it's called. Harry's pretty sure that they call it Benson's house because Logan purchased the house from some guy named Benson, but among the prostitutes, they call it the whorehouse. Maybe it's a failed attempt at humor or a badly-veiled way of expressing their self-hatred, but either way, Harry thinks there's a ring to the name.

Logan plays music as he drives, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he hums along to the songs. Harry isn't familiar with the music—he barely listens to music nowadays despite the fact that Logan put some songs in his phone. Harry stares out the window, noting how the streets and houses get more crowded the closer they get to their destination. Harry can almost smell the stench of the sewers and piss from inside the car just by looking at the grimy exteriors of the buildings and garbage-infested streets.

"Do you want to eat something before we get there?" Logan asks, resting a hand on his thigh. Logan is in one of his suspiciously chipper moods, and frankly, Harry's too exhausted to overanalyze his every move in case he ends up annoying him, so Harry takes it as it is and plays along with Logan's happy mood, hoping it'll last much longer than the last.

"Only if you want to. I've eaten before we left," Harry says.

Logan scoffs. "You ate? A single cookie and a glass of milk is barely food, Harry. You're getting skinnier by the second, you have to eat more if you don't want to look malnourished."

Harry frowns, staring down at his body. It's true that he's lost weight judging from the way his clothes have become even more baggier than usual, but Harry doesn't think he looks _that_ thin. Besides, Johns like it when he's smaller than them. It makes it easier for them to throw him around. It gives them some feeling of power when the whore they're fucking seems vulnerable and pathetic.

"I'll try. Sorry." 

"Good. We're getting burgers and fries. Let's just finish it on our way there, you know how it is at the house. One whiff of food and an entire gaggle of people will be pawing at your feet. Like fucking rats, I swear."

Harry's very familiar with that scene, since there was a time when he was one of the "rats" who practically licked the floor for any possible crumbs of food. There was a girl back then—Becka, he thinks her name was—who somehow mastered the art of swallowing food without chewing. Harry's certain that she's always the one to eat the food Harry stores in the fridge for himself. Even when he hides it in his pillowcase or in the pockets of his dirty jeans, she still somehow always finds them. Harry's certain his stomach has shrunk to the size of a peanut during his time in that house, which is why he's still adjusting to the new meal plan that Logan is forcing him to eat. Before, he was ready to thank all the gods up above if he gets to eat at least one decent meal. Now, Logan makes sure he eats three meals a day even if he never finishes them because he always feels like throwing up after a few bites.

They order from a Wendy's drive through. Logan decides that he wants to take a break from driving after all, so they end up in the parking lot. They lean against the hood of the car and dig into their food.

Harry nibbles at his burger and tries not to drink too much soda because it'll only kill his appetite even more. When he looks up, Logan is already watching him.

"Talk to me," Logan commands, raising an eyebrow. "You don't want me to find your company boring, do you?"

Harry knows he's teasing, but considering their circumstances, it's so close to the truth that Harry couldn't help but nod. He awkwardly clears his throat. "Um. Thanks for the food."

"You said you weren't even hungry."

"But it's still food. And I'm eating now, so," Harry says with a small shrug.

Logan just watches him, looking amused. "You better finish that. You don't know how many of those girls in the house would kill to take your spot."

He says it so casually that Harry doesn't doubt it at all. He knows he's privileged to a certain extent, or at least in terms of a prostitute's life. It seems that like the girls at the whorehouse, Logan also never fails to remind him of this every chance he gets.

"I know," Harry says quietly. He takes a large bite out of the burger as if to prove a point. "I'm very thankful."

"If you stay a good boy, maybe I'll have some more surprises for you," Logan says, stepping towards him and ruffling his hair. Even with friendly gestures like this, Harry can't help his reflex reaction which is to flinch away. Logan surely notices but doesn't seem to mind. If anything, it makes him stand taller and smirk. That trademark look alone is enough to make Harry want to shrink in on himself.

Harry doesn't say anything and continues to eat. Harry can't finish the fries no matter how hard he tries, so Logan tosses them in the trash with a pointed sigh. Harry knows he's disappointed, but he doesn't really care right now because his stomach feels like it might just explode.

The rest of the ride to the house is quite uneventful, save for when Logan almost runs over a shirtless man in the street, clearly as high as a kite. Logan calls him every curse word in the book and is about to get out of the car with his hand on the gun tucked into his jeans when the man finally walks to the sidewalk to let them pass. 

Harry lets out a quiet breath.

When they finally arrive, Harry trails after Logan on their way inside. Immediately, Harry is hit with the smell of sweat and sex and dirty laundry.

"Logan," Ricky, one of Logan's right hand men greets him. Ricky manages the girls here ninety percent of the time. Weekly, Logan visits to collect his money and remind everyone who's the boss, but other than that, Logan barely shows up here unless there's an important issue to fix.

Harry stays lingering behind Logan as he and Ricky catch up. Down the hall, he can see a few of the girls peeking through the doors. He can feel the nervousness and fear from them and it crashes into Harry like a wave. He remembers feeling this way whenever Logan would visit when he was much younger and inexperienced. He used to be locked up in one of the rooms upstairs, legs splayed open as he lost count of how many men came in and out, again and again. They didn't trust him to go out and look for clients on his own then, and those were probably the worst years of his life.

Logan first took notice of him after he attracted several regulars. The same men would visit him in his room every week, some of them even a couple times a week. Harry hated that he found their faces familiar, or that he knew the telltale signs when they were about to finish inside him. But he was good. That's what Logan told him when he got invited into Logan's private office for the first time.

"I hear you've been very good, Harry," Logan said, looking intimidating in his crisp polo shirt and close-cropped hair. He was much younger then, and despite it only being two years ago, Harry can remember how he didn't have gray hair yet, or how he had way less tattoos than he does now.

"Thank you," Harry told him, meek and quiet as always. Harry learned fairly quickly that they love it when you're submissive. They feel like they control you, but at that time, Harry felt like _he_ had all the power in the world because at least being submissive meant he didn't get beaten to a pulp every week for messing up over the smallest things.

"You've been bringing in good money, Ricky tells me." Logan stood up then, and Harry was taken aback from how he towered over him.

Harry didn't know that, so he opened and closed his mouth several times, unsure of how to respond. Logan held his face in his large hand, making Harry freeze.

"That makes me very happy." Logan said. Harry merely nodded. "How old are you, Harry?"

"Seventeen," Harry said.

"You're one of the youngest here. You're also the only boy," Logan told him. Harry didn't know what to make of that information. Logan then stepped away from him and sat back down on his chair behind the desk. Logan patted his thigh, looking at him.

Harry hoped the shakiness in his movements wasn't obvious as he walked forward and gingerly sat on Logan's lap. Logan wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling him close so that they were chest to chest with Harry looking down at him.

"I want you to do something. Will you do that for me, Harry?" Logan said.

Harry didn't even think twice before nodding. "Yes."

Logan fucked his mouth that night. The next time he visited, he fucked Harry with his fingers while Harry choked on his dick. Then, he made Harry ride him. Three months later, Logan was already arranging Harry's move to his apartment with Ricky. Harry didn't miss the glares and hushed whispers from the girls in the house, how they called him Logan's pet. It got to the point that one of the oldest girls, Susan, tried cutting his hair in his sleep with the hopes that Harry turning ugly would mean that Logan would bring someone else with him to his apartment. It didn't work. Any form of violence between the prostitutes was strictly prohibited, so Susan was harshly punished for that. The last thing Harry heard about Susan was that she overdosed on heroin and died in the room next to the one Harry used to stay in.

Now, despite the fear radiating from the occupants of the house, Harry can still feel their judgement towards him, can hear the whispers through the thin walls. No one really liked Harry when he lived here. They mostly just tolerated him while some of them took pity on the rookie. 

"Sure. Let's discuss it inside," Ricky tells Logan, making Harry look up.

Logan spares him a look that says _don't go anywhere_ before trailing after Ricky into his office. When the door closes behind them, Harry is deafened by the silence.

For a moment he awkwardly stands there, noticing how not much has changed. The house is a decent size, but it's tiny when you consider the fact that more than ten people live here. The couch in the living room has springs jutting out of the cushions, while the coffee table is missing one leg and is only managing to stay upright thanks to a carton box shoved under it. The washed-out green wallpapers are peeling, and the old floorboards creak under even the smallest movements.

Harry eventually takes a seat on the lumpy couch. He can hear the low rumble of Logan's voice through the wall, accompanied by Ricky's louder one. It doesn't take long until one of the girls comes out of their room, eyeing him from the hallway.

She's a thin blonde, probably around Harry's age. He hasn't seen her around before, so she must be new.

"Are you the boss' pet?" she asks.

There's no malice in her tone, though. She sounds genuinely curious. Harry doesn't have the energy to get offended over the stupid nickname they gave him, so he just gives her a quick nod.

She crosses her arms over her chest, smiling ruefully. Immediately, Harry's eyes latch onto the needle marks littering the inside of her elbows and around her arms. It makes Harry's gut twist.

"How's he like? All he ever does around here is beat the shit out of us," the girl says with a laugh, and only then does Harry realize that she's probably high. It's too dark to see her eyes, but from her slurred and unfiltered speech, he can already tell.

Harry shakes his head at her. _Stop talking_ , he means to say, but he doesn't want Logan hearing his voice, so he hopes his wide eyes are enough. 

Of course it's not, because the girl continues, "Such a shame I don't got no dick. Logan's a fag, so of course he'll take you, eh? A perfect twink. Wish I got a dick."

Harry's finally about to open his mouth when someone grabs her arm from behind her. It's Karl, one of Logan's men, and thankfully, he looks more bored than angry. "Aubrey, get the fuck back in your room."

"Don't you fuckin' say my name, ugly cunt," Aubrey hisses, snatching her arm away, and Karl is hitting her with the back of his hand, causing her to stumble and clutch her cheek in pain.

"I _said_ , back to your room," Karl hisses, leaning down to harshly tug her hair. Aubrey cries out. "Go on, slut."

Aubrey cries as she climbs the stairs, her hair covering her face on the way up, but Harry still caught a glimpse of her red cheek. When she slams the door behind her, Karl turns to Harry, making him freeze for a moment, and then he looks down at his lap and fiddles with his fingers.

Harry hates it when Logan brings him here. He's always wondered why, because instead of whoring himself out in the streets, Logan would much rather drag him here for no reason at all. He thinks it could be some sort of message for the girls, like a way of telling them that if they're good enough, they might end up like Harry. Harry will hardly consider himself lucky, but compared to everyone else holed up in this house, living with Logan is practically paradise. However, Harry also thinks that it can be a message for him. Maybe, it's Logan's way of telling him that he was the one to pull Harry out of this life. Logan was the one to find him better regular clients. Logan was the one to give him the smallest bit of freedom he has every Wednesday. Logan feeds him and lets him bathe and lets him rest—Harry is practically spoiled. Every time they come back here, it's like Logan's reminding him of where he came from, and that if he fucks up, Logan can easily toss him back here.

Whether or not that is Logan's motive for bringing him here, it's definitely working.

Logan and Ricky come out of the office about half an hour later. Harry stands and hovers by Logan's side, keeping his head down. When they finally leave the house, Harry feels the tightness in his chest gradually unravel.

Back in the car, Harry notices that Logan is carrying a black backpack, one that he didn't have before. Based on the tightness of his grip on it, Harry can tell that it must be stacks of cash. Money from married men and perverts who fuck prostitutes in the back seat of their cars. Money milked from people like Harry, whose entire lives are turned upside down and endlessly twisted again and again. All of that misery and pain just so that Logan can fill his backpack with money that he didn't work for.

They're silent as Logan begins to drive. It's still early, just a few minutes past four, so Harry knows for certain that Logan has a lot of other errands to run. As expected, Logan eventually stops the car to drop him off near his regular client's meet-up spot. He's supposed to meet him at five, so Harry figures he'll find a way to make use of his free time in the meantime.

Harry turns to Logan, about to thank him for the ride, when Logan's lips harshly clash into his. Logan grips his head with both hands and presses him close. Harry lets his mouth fall open, lets Logan's tongue probe inside his mouth.

"Back seat," Logan huffs out, running a rough thumb over his bottom lip.

Harry obeys wordlessly, hopping out of the passenger seat to transfer to the back. As Logan follows after him, Harry thinks about the fact that Logan has clearly accounted for Harry's free time before he has to meet with a client and is conveniently making use of it right now.

Once Logan is seated next to him, he slams the door shut and pulls Harry into his lap. They kiss for longer than they usually do, and then his hands are undoing Harry's jeans. Once they're removed, Harry lifts himself up a bit so Logan can pull his cock out.

"You gonna be good for me?" Logan says, hot breath fanning over Harry's cheek.

"Yes," Harry says, gasping when Logan grabs his hips and pulls him down so he can feel his hardness against his ass.

Logan spits on his hands and fingers him. It's rushed and dirty and painful. Harry doesn't expect anything but that. No matter how many times they fuck, Harry can never get used to Logan's size. He bites his own forearm as Logan stretches him, tearing him apart. Harry whimpers when he's fully seated, breathing hard against Logan's neck.

"God," Logan groans. "Move. I know you're hungry for it."

Harry still needs a while to adjust to the stretch, but he starts moving anyway, drawing figure eights with his hips. Logan's impatient, so he grabs Harry's hips and makes him bounce up and down on his dick.

This time, Harry can't help the cry of pain that leaves his mouth. They didn't use lube and Harry's barely prepped, so the pain is hard to block out. He clutches onto Logan's shoulder, his nails biting into his skin. He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels Logan's thumb wiping them away from his cheeks.

"Shh. C'mon, Harry. You're a good boy. You'll make this good for me. You like it when it hurts, don't you? You love it," Logan whispers into his ear.

Harry wants to shake his head and scream no, wants to get off him and leave the car. He doesn't. Instead, he sucks it up and starts slowly moving his hips again. This time, Logan only rests his hands on his hips and lets him set the pace. It's all Harry can ask for.

Harry feels like his forearm is bleeding from how hard he's biting into his skin. It still hurts like a bitch, but he feels a bit numb now.

When Logan's close to finishing, he fucks up into Harry while Harry nearly bites his tongue off from how rough he's going. Logan moans in his ear when he finally comes. Harry gingerly hops off him and puts his boxers on. Before he can pull his jeans on as well, Logan stops him.

Harry freezes, eyes snapping up. He only has ten minutes before he has to meet with Gerald. Logan can't be thinking of going for another round, can he?

"I got you," Logan says, pulling Harry's dick out from his boxers and palming him slowly. Harry's only half-hard, but his cock slowly fills up as Logan continues to stroke him.

Harry barely registers it when he shoots come onto his chest. He's too shocked about the fact that Logan _got him off_. He never does. Not until now.

Harry's still loose-limbed and weak from his orgasm, but he forces his limbs to coordinate with him as he cleans himself up and pulls his jeans on. Logan merely watches him. When he's done, Harry opens the door. He turns to Logan.

"Um. Bye," Harry says, his brain still feeling like mush.

To his surprise, Logan laughs. "Bye, Harry. Go ahead. Don't be late."

Harry's legs feel like noodles when he finally gets out of the car. He shuts the door and practically wobbles to the sidewalk, wincing on his way there. His ass feels like it's on fire. He can only hope that Gerald's not thinking of fucking him. Maybe Harry will just give him head, since Gerald is quite old and complains about tiring easily when he's hovering over Harry anyway.

When he rounds a corner, he catches a glimpse of Logan's car. He's in the driver's seat now, still watching Harry. When he gives Harry a soft smile, Harry immediately looks away and practically runs to the hotel.

×××

Harry visits the café again the next time he has a day off. 

Even before his life went to shit, he's always been told that his mind tends to fly a lot. His sister will be in the middle of talking to him and he'll zone out, staring at a stain on the table cloth or a moth that flies by the window. Nowadays, he thinks "zoning out" isn't exactly the best word to describe it when his eyes suddenly appear glazed over while his mind is clouded or in a completely different place. He feels disconnected from his body, as though he's floating somewhere overhead, only vaguely aware of what's happening to him. It happens a lot during sex, and when he's lucky, some clients like how pliant he becomes, how he practically melts into their arms and welcomes them to do whatever they please. Sometimes the clients don't like it, because how can Harry play his role when he isn't even properly awake?

For some reason, Harry feels like that as he walks into Caffeinated. The bell jingles and as he opens the door. The voices around him are white noise. He looks at people but doesn't register their faces. He feels like a balloon floating up into the sky, weightless and aimless. It's a wonderful feeling.

He finds himself sitting at a table one moment later. There's a gap in his memory, he can't quite tell how he got here in the first place, but then a face comes into view. The person's eyebrows are furrowed in concern. He hears a muffled voice, like it's underwater. Slowly, the voice becomes clearer until he can finally make out what they're saying.

"...call someone? Are you okay?"

Harry blinks. The person in front of him is wearing a barista's apron. The smell of coffee reminds him where he is. The person's hands are on his shoulders, warm and heavy against his coat. He vaguely wonders if this person's weight against him was the reason he somehow landed back on Earth.

The person, Harry realizes next, looks properly freaked out. His lips are pursed in a thin line, eyes stormy with concern. He's staring intently into Harry's eyes as though he's looking for something.

His brain seems to be working again, because he recognizes this man as the new barista. The person who gave him a free slice of red velvet cake. The person who wrote a note on a napkin.

"You gave me cake," Harry hears himself saying.

The man looks surprised at first, conflicted, even, then it morphs into a soft smile. The space between his eyebrows aren't as pinched as it used to be.

"Yeah, that's me," the man says, laughing a bit.

Harry nods slowly, then frowns. "Why?"

Even his own voice sounds a bit off to himself. Maybe the man can hear it too, because his barely-there smile slowly disappears. 

"Well," the new barista starts off slowly, "it's just a thing I like to do. I felt like you were the type of person to enjoy a slice of red velvet cake, so I sneaked one into your paper bag when you weren't looking."

Harry licks his lips. "I did enjoy it."

"See? I'm great at it."

Harry smiles a bit. He still feels off, like his head is too heavy for his body and his tongue too big for his mouth. He doesn't realize that he's zoning out again until the man seated across him speaks again.

"You know what? I'll demonstrate my talent again. How about I order you something that I think you'd enjoy?" he asks.

Harry shrugs and pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel a headache coming on.

It's not long until another barista—it's Casey, he notices—brings him a tray of black coffee and a croissant, clearly instructed by the man in front of him.

"Close," Harry says.

"Yeah? What did I get wrong?" he says. Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

"The pastry. I usually go for the glazed donut. Much cheaper," Harry says. He pulls the cup of coffee towards him and uses it to warm his hands.

"Hmm. I like donuts better than croissants, as well. They're so much more unhealthier," he says with a grin.

Harry smiles back, but then he realizes that he's talking to a barista who's supposed to be behind the counter. He purses his lips and says, "Um, thanks for ordering for me. You can go back to work now if—"

"No, it's fine. Not that many customers during times like this. Casey can handle them just fine," he says, looking back at Casey who's handing over a tray to an old lady. Casey catches his look and throws a wink their way. 

Harry studies the man in front of him, wondering why he's sitting with Harry in the first place. He sees the name tag clipped to his apron, reading _Aaron_.

"Besides," Aaron says, leaning in a bit as if to share a secret, "Casey left me alone behind the counter too when her boyfriend came to visit a few hours ago. They were gone for a while and I had to handle everyone's orders, so she can't really complain now."

Harry feels another smile tugging at his lips. "I guess you're right."

"Exactly," Aaron turns to fully face him, grinning. "My name's Aaron, by the way. Aaron Carter. I hope this interaction isn't creeping you out. I've heard I can be quite straightforward."

Harry shakes his head. "No, no. Um. You're fine."

"You're not so bad yourself," Aaron says with a cheeky grin, making Harry's face heat up.

"I meant like—" Harry starts, only to be cut off by Aaron's laughter. 

"I'm only teasing, sorry," Aaron says, softer this time.

Harry laughs awkwardly. "It's fine. I'm just—sorry. My mind is all over the place today. Sorry."

"Tough workload, isn't it? Let me guess—you're a freshie?" Aaron says.

Harry panics a bit and ends up nodding. Aaron only smiles wider. "I'm a senior. I'm guessing we go to the same university?"

Once again, Harry nods. He has no idea which university Aaron is referring to. He can only hope that it's the one a few blocks down since it's what's closest here, though he can't even remember what it's called.

"Ah," Aaron says, leaning back on his chair. He looks contemplative when he says, "I remember my freshie years as well. I had a big binder and all those fancy highlighters. I took note of literally every word that came out of my professor's mouth. I was a proper nerd."

Quite belatedly, Harry realizes that speaking with Aaron helped clear his head a bit. He doesn't feel like zoning out anymore and he's definitely fully awake now. He feels a bit like a fool, imagining how stupid he must've looked when he walked in here, all dazed and barely-there. Aaron must've seen him and thought he was high or something. 

"I remember it being very stressful," Aaron continues, and Harry can tell that he's trying to be sympathetic towards Harry because he thinks Harry's a freshman who's so stressed by schoolwork that he showed up in here acting like _that_. Harry wants to laugh.

"Right." Harry fiddles with his rings. He takes a sip of his coffee. It's still early, and as awkward as he feels right now, he doesn't want to go back to Logan's apartment, so he stays put and simply hopes that Aaron would get sick of him soon enough.

"Here," Aaron says. When Harry looks up, Aaron has written something down on a napkin again. "That's my number. If you need any help with coursework or finding where a certain building is, or even figuring out how to get a high grade from a certain professor, shoot me a text and I'll try my best to help."

Harry takes the napkin in his hands. It makes him feel some type of way—chatting with a "fellow" student, exchanging numbers to talk about coursework, the feeling of having a potential friend—none of these are meant for Harry. It's his dream life, sure. The ideal version of himself would be taking up some pretentious major in a prestigious university, studying his ass off every night. He'd be out in cafés like this one with a bunch of friends his own age, reading class notes and cramming course requirements in the last minute. He'd be crying over low grades, pulling his hair out from stress, feeling homesick from staying at a dorm. He'd be celebrating with his family, going out for dinner when he gets a high GPA. His ideal parents would buy him a car as a reward. His ideal sister would be the proudest person there is. He would have dreams, that no matter how high, he'd still be able to reach. He'd be free.

"Thank you," Harry says, his throat feeling tight. Every time he comes here, he likes to pretend that it's for his own entertainment. That playing the role of his could've-been-self is nothing but fun. It's during times like this when he remembers how much of a masochist he is. He surrounds himself with things and visions he can never have for real. He never learns.

"My pleasure," Aaron says easily, his smile so blinding and genuine that Harry feels sick to his stomach for lying to him. "Is there any way I can get your name so I know it's you when you text me?"

He's teasing, Harry knows, so he laughs lightly. "Sorry about that. Um, I'm Harry."

"Hmm. I guessed you would be a Jack or an Alex, but Harry definitely fits better."

Harry purses his lips so he doesn't end up laughing again. Instead, he reaches for a crumpled bill in the pockets of his coat, about to hand it over to him when Aaron suddenly stands up.

"Nope, that one's on the house, Harry. It's all good."

"But—"

"No buts. Just make sure to come visit us again, yeah? Come say hi every now and then. Wave back when I greet you in the hallway and all that," Aaron says, straightening his apron.

Harry reluctantly pockets his money. He looks up at Aaron and smiles. "Sure. I'll do that."

"Great. It was lovely chatting with you. Duty calls, but do send me that text, yeah? Even if it doesn't have anything to do with school. I happen to be very talkative, so if you have any need for a distraction, say hi."

Aaron looks like a genuinely nice guy. He's probably given away his number to several other lost freshies he's seen. He's just the type of person to help people out for no reason at all other than he wants to. Harry feels guilty for having tricked him into believing that Harry's just one of those ordinary university students with normal lives, but he still finds himself pocketing the napkin with Aaron's number scribbled on it.

"I will," Harry says. "Thanks."

Aaron gives him a mock-salute before joining Casey behind the counter again, both of them throwing Harry a smile when they catch him looking their way. Harry smiles and looks away. He forces himself to finish his food since Aaron bought it for him, and it would be kind of rude to leave leftovers where he can see them. By the time he's done eating, a line has formed at the counter. Harry puts his trash away and walks to the door. Even with the long line of customers, Aaron catches his eye and waves goodbye.

Harry waves back, chest feeling impossibly tight. He turns and leaves, letting the cold night swallow him whole.


	3. Chapter 3

There are odd days few and far between when Harry can't sleep after an entire day of work. He just lies in bed, his skin tingling from his hot shower and relentless scrubbing, eyes staring at nothing. His body is sore and his mind is exhausted, but for some reason, his eyes won't close. It definitely doesn't help that he goes to bed at six in the morning, so by the time his eyelids get at least a little bit droopy, the sun's rays are already making its way through the window and hitting him right in the face.

He huffs and turns over, covering his face with a blanket. He's certain that there's no way he's going to sleep now. Usually, he gets up in time for lunch, but one glance at the clock tells him that sleeping is no longer an option as it's already 11:30 AM.

Harry pulls himself out of bed and starts preparing food. He doesn't know if Logan will be here to eat, but just to be sure, he cooks enough for the two of them. Half an hour ticks by and there's no sign of Logan, so he starts lunch without him, barely making a dent on the sandwich he prepared for himself. He wraps Logan's sandwich in a foil wrap and puts it in the fridge. Before closing it, he catches sight of the leftover red velvet cake in its plastic container.

He takes it out and eats it slowly. It's a single slice of cake, but it's taking him days to finish it, so he figures Logan had a point when he told Harry about eating more and fixing his appetite if he doesn't want to lose clients.

His phone buzzes on the table. It's a text from Logan, telling him that he won't be back until later in the evening. He replies with a simple "okay", the keypad clicking noisily as he types. Harry's pretty sure that this phone is one of Logan's burner phones that he has in stock. It's an old Nokia flip phone model, and while it's ridiculously outdated, Harry isn't complaining. Harry's had it for a few months now, but the only thing he uses it for is to send and receive messages from Logan.

When his mind travels to the crumpled napkin with a phone number in his coat pocket from his last visit at the café, his stomach turns with guilt. He should throw it away, he knows. He's been trying to do that since the moment he left the café to return to the apartment, his pocket weighing heavier and heavier as he walked home. He never did end up throwing it in the trash, simply because Harry can't shake off the thought of having an ordinary life, however temporary, with Aaron as one of his friends.

It's stupid. It's by far the most ridiculous thing Harry has ever found himself thinking. At the same time, he doesn't want to throw away the opportunity of being a normal nineteen-year-old without at least trying it out first. 

He finishes the cake and rushes to the bedroom to find his coat. He pulls out the napkin and stares at the group of numbers written there. Harry's too paranoid to save the number to his phone in case Logan finds it, so he knows he needs to have it memorized instead.

He sits at the kitchen island and reads the number over and over again. God, this is so stupid. What will he even say? He can barely hold a conversation in real life unless it leads to sex, so what on earth is he even going to text Aaron? 

Still, Harry has his number memorized by the time he's washed the dishes. He needs to meet a client at five in the afternoon, and usually, he accompanies Logan while he runs errands, but since Logan isn't here, Harry's practically free to do whatever he wants for the next few hours.

Harry's cleaning his nails when he thinks, _fuck it_ , and types down Aaron's number on his phone. It's just a one-off thing. Harry's curious about what course Aaron is majoring in, and quite frankly, anything that Aaron has to say. He seems like a nice guy with funny stories, so really, where's the harm in talking to him?

He's sitting on the couch, swaddled in blankets as he stares at the blinking cursor on the screen. It takes him about ten minutes to think of the first thing to text.

_hey, it's harry :)_

Is that too weird? Too confident? Harry deletes and re-types the smiley face several times before cursing and just pressing send before he goes crazy. Once it's sent, Harry suddenly regrets it and wishes that he's never sent it in the first place. If Logan finds out he's texting random people with a phone he gave Harry, it's clearly going to raise some questions. Fuck. He can only hope that once he deletes the text, there won't be any trace or history of it anywhere, which is probably something he doesn't need to worry about because he's literally using an outdated flip phone, but—

His phone buzzes and at first Harry thinks it's Logan scolding him. But it's from the number he just typed in, and his heart practically stops beating.

_Hey Harry! How are you? I was starting to think you lost my number…_

Harry bites his nail and sends back: _no, i was just a bit busy. i'm doing good, you ?_

Aaron is quick to reply. _As good as a senior in uni can be, I guess! I'm not gonna lie, with my thesis and everything, it's all a hectic mess._

Harry winces. Of course he's busy, he's an actual student who's studying and wants to graduate. Aaron must be thinking of ways to tell Harry to leave him alone. God, Harry's such an idiot. Aaron was just being nice, he didn't _actually_ want to talk to him. 

_oh my bad! i'm sorry, i'll leave you to it. good luck on your thesis :D_

Harry sighs. He doesn't even know what he's trying to achieve here. Talking to Aaron back at the café just made him feel some kind of way. Comforted and ordinary, maybe. Thinking back to that day, it feels like it happened in a dream. It's the first time in literal years that he's had a genuine conversation (on Aaron's side, at least) with another man that isn't only talking to him to discuss how much he has to pay to fuck him behind the dumpster. It's the first time he felt a bit like his old self, remnants of who he used to be resurfacing ever so subtly before he was reduced to his job as a prostitute.

His phone vibrates again. He's expecting a short response from Aaron, something like "Oh haha that's ok! See you around I guess?" but instead, he reads: 

_No need to apologize. I'm actually not busy right now, so don't worry, you're not bothering me or anything. If anything I'm worried I'm the one bothering you since you must be busy as well, being a freshie and all that ;)_

Harry huffs out a laugh. He replies: _not at all. i'm just killing time :))_

_Ahh, what amazing fun. I'll have you know that I'm an expert at killing time. I do it all the time that I end up with no time at all to write my papers or review for my finals_

Harry actually lets out a giggle, replying: _for some reason i don't doubt it…_

They exchange messages until Harry has to prepare for his client. It's like a bucket of cold water is thrown over his head, because he's reminded of the reality he's in. He's not a uni kid having a funny conversation with a schoolmate—he's a prostitute spending his free time _pretending_ to be one.

He tells Aaron that he has to run an errand, to which Aaron replies with a "sure thing!" and, for some reason, a picture of a jellyfish. He didn't offer an explanation, so Harry finds himself wondering what it might mean while his client fucks into his throat, hard enough to make him want to puke.

×××

Logan is waiting for him when Harry returns from an entire day of working. Like usual, Harry hands over their breakfast and they share the meal at the kitchen island, then the cash he's earned for the day. Logan counts it in front of him and says nothing as he pockets it. 

Harry's particularly exhausted today. His throat is sore and his voice is wrecked from the amount of dick he's sucked in the span of a few hours, and still, he's only barely made the quota. The warm coffee helps, but he would rather drink some tea and honey to remedy it.

"A letter came for you," Logan says out of the blue.

Harry looks up and tries hard to get a read on Logan's facial expression. He looks bored and a bit annoyed if his slightly clenched jaw is anything to go by. Harry swallows.

"Um. Really?" Harry can barely speak more than an unintelligible croak. He doubts Logan understood what he just said.

"It was sent to Benson's house."

Harry's mind is whirring. Who would know about the whorehouse to send him a letter there? But most importantly, _who_ would even send him a letter?

"Maybe it's not for me," Harry says dumbly. He resorts to whispering so that Logan could at least understand his words. When Logan raises an eyebrow at him, he hastily adds, "I can't think of anyone who will write to me. That's all."

Apparently it was the wrong thing to say, because Logan pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and slams it on the table, making Harry jump. He doesn't dare move a muscle as Logan stares him down.

"It's from someone called Gemma. Does that ring a bell?"

Harry practically stops breathing. He's staring at the white envelope on the table, crumpled at the sides. He finds himself shaking his head because no, it _can't_ be.

"I don't—" Harry starts and stops, his throat closing in on itself. God, out of all the days this letter could've come, why today? Harry feels like he's a centimeter away from death's door already as it is.

"Are you calling me a liar, Harry?"

Harry's entire body comes back to life as he shakes his head, eyes wide as he feels panic creep up into his bones. "No, no. I'm sorry, I'm not—"

"Shut the fuck up and read the letter. _Now_." Logan is standing now, leaning against the table so that he's looking down on Harry. His eyes are hard and his mouth is set in a thin line. Harry reaches for the letter with a shaky hand, vaguely noting the lack of a return address, and tears it open.

He unfolds the paper inside and takes a deep breath. His hands are trembling so badly that he has to put it down on the table. He scans the page and—fuck. It really is Gemma's handwriting.

"Dear Harry," Harry reads, his voice breaking after every syllable, barely able to string together a single word. "I know we haven't spoken since I left roughly five years ago. I'm sorry. If I could go back in time to change things, I would. It wasn't fair for me to leave you behind when—"

Harry chokes on a sob. He remembers that day as clear as day. 

Gemma had always been the rebellious one, the kid that Mom and Dad talked ill about behind her back. So when she got pregnant at seventeen, Harry wasn't all that surprised, but their parents didn't take the news lightly. Day after day they'd fight and yell in each other's faces, arguing about keeping the baby or getting rid of it or giving it up for adoption—until one day, Gemma left for good.

Harry was only fourteen then. He shared a bed with Gemma, so he remembers being woken in the middle of the night from the sound of Gemma shoving all her belongings into her bag. 

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, rubbing away the sleepiness from his eyes.

Gemma looked so thin and exhausted that night. She gave Harry a tired smile, leaning over the bed to kiss his cheek. "I'm meeting Raymond at the bus stop."

"Why?"

Gemma bit her lip. In the darkness, Harry still saw the way her eyes filled up with unshed tears. "They want to take my baby away, H. I can't—I can't do that. I don't care what Mom and Dad thinks. I'm keeping our baby. Raymond and I are going to make it work."

She zipped her bag up and pulled Harry into a tight hug. 

"Will you be back?" Harry asked. Dread was already taking over his body—their life at home was bad enough, but Harry couldn't imagine a life without Gemma. Gemma was the only good part of his day, when all his parents did was fight and yell, Gemma was there to read him a story or sew his torn clothes or sneakily buy him sweets and junk food. Harry didn't realize he was already crying until Gemma started crying as well, clutching him tightly to her chest.

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. For now you need to stay with Mom and Dad, okay? I'll find a way to get you, just not right now. I'll be back. I promise I'll be back for you," Gemma said, her voice wobbling as they held onto each other as if their lives depended on it.

Harry cried even harder that night, almost threatening to wake their parents up just to get Gemma to stay. But Harry wasn't evil. He didn't want to be the reason that the baby in his sister's tummy is taken away from Gemma. So when she walked out the house that night, Harry muffled his sobs in his pillow as best as he could.

That was his first heartbreak.

"I said _read_ it," Logan snarls, harshly grabbing him by the hair and tilting his head down towards the letter.

Harry sucks in as much air as he can, his vision blurry from tears as he continues, "...wasn't fair for me to leave you behind when you clearly weren't safe with Mom and Dad either. I've only learned about Dad's death a few months ago, and ever since, I've been gathering whatever information I can regarding where you and Mom are. I've been sending out letters to several addresses, hoping that at least one of the rumors of your whereabouts is true. I hope you find this letter and I hope you reach out to me. I love you and I'm sorry. L-love, Gemma."

There's an email and a number written at the bottom of the page. Logan snatches the letter away from him. Harry chokes on a sob.

The silence seems to stretch as Harry cries into his palms while Logan paces the room back and forth just to torture Harry. Harry is still taking everything in—the fact that Gemma is okay, and that she cared enough to look for them and _wants_ to help Harry, wants to find him. Even after years of radio silence from Gemma after her promise of coming back for him, Harry can't find it in his heart to hold a grudge against his big sister. If anything, it was worry and guilt that kept him up at night, wondering what happened to Gemma and her baby after she left to face the world on her own at seventeen. 

But now she's looking for him, for _them_ , and Harry just read her letter aloud for his pimp.

"Seems like a sweet girl, Gemma does," Logan says. He stands behind Harry's chair, resting his hands on Harry's shoulders. He leans down, his breath fanning across the side of his neck, saying, "I want you to write a letter back to her, Harry."

A fresh wave of tears springs from Harry's eyes. "Logan, _please—_ "

"Ask her how she's doing. She's got a baby, right? Ask her about the kid, too. Tell her that you and your Mom are doing alright, but you're _dying_ to get back in touch with her. Ask her to come visit, hmm? So we get to meet her."

Harry feels like the world is collapsing in on him. He's so exhausted he feels like one last nudge will tip him over the edge.

"Will you do that for me, Harry? Will you be a good boy?"

Logan retrieves a piece of paper and a pen and places them on the table in front of Harry. Harry's eyes are so puffed up from crying that he can barely see it.

"C'mon, now. Get started."

Slowly, Harry shakes his head. He can feel the moment Logan registers his movement as he goes stiff behind him. As if to prove a point, Harry firmly says, "No."

In a flash, Harry's slammed against the wall, his feet off the ground as Logan presses his forearm against his chest, eyes livid while Harry trembles in his grasp. "What was that?"

"I said no, I _can't!"_ Harry sobs. "Please, you don't have to drag her into my father's mess, I'm already here to pay for it, _please!"_

Their father made a lot of enemies, including Logan's family—the Peytons. The Peytons are loan sharks, and his father came to them when his debt from gambling was becoming too much. His father killed himself when he couldn't repay the Peytons. He was a coward. At sixteen, Harry had to pay for all his mistakes. 

Still, the Peytons love to hold a grudge. They want Gemma too. Out of spite more than anything else. Harry can't let them ruin Gemma's life too. He _can't_.

"I'm giving you one more chance, Harry. Think your next words through. You know I don't like it when you disobey me," Logan says through gritted teeth, his grip harsh enough to leave bruises on his skin.

Harry knows that Logan can send a letter pretending to be Harry to Gemma if he wanted, but if Gemma sent a letter to the whorehouse of all places, then she knows that Harry was possibly caught up in a prostitution ring, and she'd know to be cautious. She'll only believe it's Harry if she sees his handwriting, or if Harry himself calls her on the phone. As it is, Harry isn't making it happen.

"You and your sister will pay for your father's debts, do you hear me? Whether you cooperate or not, we will find her, so take my advice and save yourself the torture, because it's happening, Harry. Your stubbornness isn't going to do a fucking thing."

Harry shakes his head, wincing as Logan slams his head on the wall. The world spins around him, and when he can talk again, he says, "No."

Logan lets go of him and he drops to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The first hit is always the most painful, because Harry's senses are still too alive, making him feel it all, and his brain is too alert to block it out. Logan punches him square in the face, followed by a kick in the stomach. Harry curls up on the floor with a whimper and tries to cover his head with his arms as Logan strikes him again and again.

"Don't make me do this, Harry," Logan pants as he hovers over him. 

Harry shakes his head, crying, "I'm not letting you take Gemma too, I'm _not—_!"

Logan picks him up just so he can hit Harry in the face. Blood oozes from his nose. Another hit makes Harry hear a high-pitched ringing in his right ear. Several consecutive hits turns everything blurry, and then it all fades to black.

Harry slips in and out of consciousness, but the next thing he knows, he's falling face-first onto the cold bathroom floor. He hears Logan's voice through the clouded mess in his head, saying, "I'm fucking disappointed in you," followed by the door slamming loudly and a lock clicking shut.

He doesn't move for a while. The cold tile feels good against his sore body, so he lies there and lets himself ache all over. It could've been worse. Logan definitely held back because Harry needed to work. If it were anyone else, Harry could be a corpse in a river instead of a beaten-up boy in a bathroom.

Somehow after what feels like hours, Harry manages to push himself into a sitting position. He leans against the bathtub, wincing from the coldness biting into his back. He still can't find the strength to stand up and get some water from the sink, so he makes do with his shirt and uses it to wipe the blood dripping from his nose and the cuts on his face.

Then, Harry prays. He stopped believing in god a long time ago, but he prays to any god that's listening, begging them to keep Gemma and her kid safe. He begs them not to let her get caught up in this like he did. He begs them not to let her down like they let him down.

He's crying again and it only worsens his headache so he forces himself to stop thinking. He waits for sleep to take him under, but maybe he deserves to endure this pain because it never comes. 

Harry flinches when he feels a vibration against his thigh. It takes him a while to remember that his phone is tucked in his pocket. When he pulls it out, it's a text from Aaron.

_Good night, Harry :) You can definitely take on that schoolwork. Keep fighting!_

Splayed on the bathroom floor with a bloodied and bruised face and possibly a few broken ribs, Harry barks out a humorless laugh at the irony of it all.


	4. Chapter 4

"You're a fucking slut. You fucking love this," the man pants, slamming into him, his hands clutching his thighs tightly while Harry grips his shoulders.

They're in a dingy club bathroom, Harry pressed against the wall with his legs wrapped around this man's waist as he fucks up into him. The guy has bulging muscles and barely breaks a sweat in carrying him, plus the fact that Harry's probably as light as a feather.

"Say it," the man hisses, biting at his neck.

Harry moans filthily, arching his back off the cold tile wall and gasps out, "Yes, yes, oh my _god_ , harder!"

"You—fucking— _bitch,_ " the man groans out between each thrust. Harry can feel him getting closer, can tell that his thrusts are getting less coordinated and more frantic as he chases his climax.

"Keep going," Harry whines, leaning his head back to expose the long column of his neck. Immediately, the man attacks it with kisses and bites. "Oh, _yes_ , ah, ah!"

"Fuck, I'm—" the man says gruffly, the arms holding Harry up trembling as he finally comes. He goes rigid and falls into Harry, pressing him even harder into the wall. Harry winces at the pain from his ribs—it's barely been a few days since Logan beat him up, but a few bruises and scars isn't an excuse to miss out in bringing in his quota for the day.

Harry pants wetly against the side of his face until the man pulls out and sets him down. Wordlessly, Harry pulls his boxers and jeans back up, ignoring his half-hard cock while the man zips up his zipper and puts on his belt.

"Hey! Open the door!"

They're in a public bathroom, after all, and Harry can only imagine the line that already formed outside filled with people dying to take a piss while they fuck against the wall. Harry walks to the door, but then the man grabs him by the wrist.

Instinctively, Harry pulls away with narrowed eyes. "Time's up. You only paid for a fuck."

"I know," the man said. Now that they're both dressed and standing in front of each other, Harry can't help but feel intimidated. This guy is scarily built, like one of the bouncers outside the club. His arm is probably the size of Harry's thigh. He doesn't want to spend another second locked up in a bathroom with him.

Harry goes to leave again when the man says, "I just—is this, like, your spot? Will I see you around here again?"

Ah. Harry looks at him over his shoulders with a coy smile. "Give me your phone and I'll give you my number."

It's not really Harry's number, but Logan's. Logan is the one to negotiate and arrange meetings with his regulars. The man hands over his phone and Harry quickly types in Logan's number before handing it back.

"Send me a text," Harry says. 

The man nods stiffly, as though he can't believe he's doing this either. Harry gives him one last sweet smile before sauntering out of the bathroom, ignoring the annoyed line of men outside the bathroom.

Harry returns to his spot outside the club, resting against the brick wall with a huff. Make-up was enough to cover up the bruises on his face, but if he lifts his shirt, there's an ugly splatter of red and deep purple blooming on his pale skin. Luckily, none of his customers were bothered by it, nor did they care.

There's another hooker towards the end of the block, smoking a cigarette. She's tall and worryingly thin—the kind of skinniness that comes from being a drug addict. She's pretty, though, with long black hair and big eyes. She turns and catches Harry looking, her eyes looking him up and down. Harry watches as she walks towards him so they're leaning against the wall side by side.

She exhales a puff of smoke. Harry watches the white tendrils curl up in the air. Up close he can see the tattoos filling up the length of her arm, a prominent illustration of a black snake wrapping around her wrist. He likes the way they look. She holds out a pack of cigarettes towards him. Harry shakes his head.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Never seen a hooker who doesn't smoke."

"I have asthma," he says, though he's pretty sure he's grown out of it a long time ago.

She laughs quietly. "That sucks."

For a while they just watch cars dashing past them, the deep bass from the club's speakers vibrating under their feet.

"You look like you're not even old enough to enter a club," the girl says.

"I'm nineteen," he says defensively. Harry doesn't care that he's practically a baby in other people's eyes. Most clients love how young he looks, maybe even _thinks_ he's still a schoolboy, and maybe Harry should be disgusted by that, but frankly all he cares about is that it at least gets him the clients he needs.

The girl hums. The crowd outside the club is dwindling down, and Harry knows he'll be lucky to have one or two more customers before he calls it a day. 

Harry's distracted that he doesn't notice the car until it stops right in front of them. The window rolls down, and the driver motions for the girl. Harry watches as she swings her hips and bends to talk to the driver. Harry is reminded of the days when he was just a rookie out in the streets, heart hammering against his chest every time a car pulls up by the curb and the driver eyes him. He used to stand next to the prettiest hookers then just so that he wouldn't be chosen, but being one of the few boy prostitutes in the area, there's quite the demand for him. 

Watching the girl talk to the man in the car takes Harry's mind to a different place. Unbidden, he imagines Gemma in her place, and he feels his stomach swoop. He's reminded of the letter she sent and he wonders if he'll ever get to talk to her again. She knows Gemma's too smart to fall for Logan's traps, but he still worries, because he can never forgive himself if she ends up like this, like _him_. She's always been the brighter one among the two of them, the one with so much potential. Even with her early pregnancy, he knows she can still make a life for herself. It's far too late for Harry and he's trapped in this life for good, and the biggest consolation he can think of is that at least it wasn't Gemma who ended up in his place.

He can only hope and pray that the devil doesn't fuck this up for him and take that away from him, too.

The girl gives Harry a wink as she hops into the car. They drive away, leaving a cloud of smoke in their wake. Harry fixes his hair as best as he can when he sees a man looking him up and down from the entrance of the club.

Just a few more.

×××

When Harry returns to the apartment, Logan isn't waiting for him like before. There's no letter to open, no hard first to greet. It's just silence and the sound of his own labored breath. He feels like crying from relief because the air always feels ten times thicker when Logan is around to watch his every move. Yesterday, Harry accidentally left a piece of egg shell in Logan's omelet, and Logan slapped him across his face and fucked him hard with barely any prep and only spit for lube. For a moment he was convinced that he was bleeding down there, but thankfully, Logan stopped before it could reach that point. He probably didn't want to spend money on Harry's medical bills if that ever happened.

He wants Logan to understand that no amount of pain and punishment can force him into risking his own sister's safety. Maybe Logan does know this, which only pisses him off more, which explains why he's always looking for the smallest things to punish Harry for.

Harry is willing to take it all.

Harry eats a bowl of cereal, takes a shower, and goes to bed. Somehow, he ends up with his phone in his face, smiling slightly when he finds that there's a message from Aaron waiting for him.

_One of my favorite bands released a new album. Is there any chance that you like The 1975?_

Aaron wasn't lying when he told him that he can talk about literally anything. Ever since they started texting, they haven't stopped. Some days, Harry barely sends in a message or two because of his fatigue, but Aaron always texts him the following day with another topic to talk about. He's a great distraction, and the funniest part is he doesn't even have to try. He'll jump from topic to topic, send paragraph-long messages about marshmallows, and even then, he'll still have some interesting facts or anecdotes left to spare.

 _will you forgive me if i say i've never heard of them?_ Harry sends back.

 _Let's fix that really quickly,_ Aaron says. Attached to the message is a link. Harry doesn't have an internet connection, and he doubts his flip phone can read the link either, so he can't really open it.

After a bit of reluctance, he texts, _sorry, i have an old flip phone. i can't open the link, but i'll check out their music when i get the chance :)_

_That's totally fine. Come by Caffeinated at noon and I'll have you listen to it on my phone, if you want!_

Harry doesn't know when he started getting excited to go to that stupid café, but he doesn't think too hard on it.

_sure, i'd love that :D_

When Wednesday arrives, Harry honors his promise and is already walking to the café by 11:30 in the morning. Logan wasn't there when he woke up, so Harry took a quick shower and promptly left. He made sure to bring his own money (Harry gets to keep his customers' tips and Logan sometimes gives him money for the cab when he asks him to buy stuff, but Harry doesn't use it and walks to save it up instead) so he can buy something from the café, as usual.

Since it's lunch time, the café is more crowded than usual. There's a line to the cashier when he enters. He's thinking about finding a vacant table and texting Aaron from there when he hears his name being called.

"Harry, over here!"

Aaron is sitting at one of the booths, waving him over. Harry ignores the shy smile tugging at his lips as he walks towards him, head bowed down.

"Hi."

"Come sit," Aaron says, grinning up at him. Harry takes a seat across from him, fiddling with the ends of his coat. "Sorry you had to come when there's so many people. Some students like to have lunch here while doing schoolwork and all that. I'm sure you're familiar."

Right. Harry's supposed to be a hardworking freshman. "Yeah."

Luckily, Aaron doesn't seem bothered that he obviously doesn't know how to keep a conversation going, because Aaron alone is enough to carry the conversation for the both of them. "Have you eaten yet, Harry? I'm thinking of getting a burger."

Harry's eyebrows rise up to his hairline. "You have burgers here?"

"It's a brand new addition, I'm pretty sure. I think they're also thinking of adding a bacon-and-egg breakfast combo. I think it's a great business move," Aaron says.

Harry's stomach grumbles at the mention of burgers and bacon. He flushes when Aaron laughs, clearly having heard it.

"Um. Sure, I'll just have whatever you'll have," Harry says shyly.

"Coming right up," Aaron says, resting his arm on the backrest of the bench as he looks to the side. "Hey, Tommy! Come 'ere, would you?"

The quiet guy who used to man the counter next to Casey approaches, wearing a barista's apron. He has a poker face on, but he smiles slightly when he sees Harry sitting there.

"This isn't a restaurant. You're supposed to stand in line and order," Tommy tells Aaron flatly.

"That's great, can you please get us two orders of that burger and smoothie combo? Thanks," Aaron says with a grin.

Tommy rolls his eyes and sighs. "Sure. Anything else for you, Harry?"

Harry startles at being addressed. He didn't know that Tommy knew his name, mostly because it was always Casey who would greet and chat with him while he's ordering, but he guesses the baristas get quite familiar with their regulars. "Um. No, thanks. I'm good with that."

Tommy nods. "Be right back."

There's an awkward moment when Tommy walks away where neither of them talks. Harry hates being like this, hates feeling even more pathetic than he already is, so he tries to come up with something funny or interesting to say, but in the end, it's still Aaron who breaks the silence.

"Tommy is the son of this café's owner, so don't take it personally if he acts like he owns the place, because he quite literally does," Aaron tells him.

Harry shakes his head, smiling. "It's okay, he seems nice. Uh, if he owns the place, why does he work as a cashier?"

"He likes to fill in vacancies every now and then. Now that they hired me, he doesn't have to work my shift, but he likes to hover around and help out wherever he can."

A group of girls in the booth next to them laughs boisterously, making both of them look their way. Harry can tell immediately that they're uni students—a bunch of friends having lunch together and sharing inside jokes.

"I never got to ask you what your major is," Aaron says thoughtfully.

Harry panics for a bit and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "Journalism."

Aaron grins. "I knew you it."

Harry doesn't even know why he said Journalism. He could've said Fine Arts or Music or several other impractical courses that his imaginary uni student self would take, but of course he had to blurt out journalism.

"How so?" Harry asks, playing along.

"I just feel like you're a good writer. And you're all about delivering the truth to the masses and all that," Aaron says, making some weird gesture with his hand.

Harry almost laughs. He didn't even finish high school. He can barely write a single paragraph without grammar errors and he cannot give less of a shit about reporting the truth to the masses and all that bullshit.

"Well, tell me yours, then," Harry says because he's afraid to make a fool out of himself when Aaron asks him questions about his major that he can't answer.

"Civil Engineering. Not really what I wanted at all, but my parents persuaded me to take it when I was a freshman. It's not bad or anything, it's just not something I thought I'd be doing for the rest of my life."

Tommy arrives with their meal, placing it on the table. "Enjoy," he says, giving Harry another smile before walking away.

Harry takes a sip of his milkshake first, and for some reason his mind is stuck on the last thing Aaron said about doing something he doesn't like for the rest of his life. He finds himself saying, "I think you can still try out a bunch of other stuff you're interested in doing. Just because you have a degree in engineering, doesn't mean that's all you're allowed to do."

Harry feels a bit stupid when he's done, and once again he's asking himself what the hell he's even doing. Who gives a fuck about what a dirty whore thinks?

"Hmm, you're right. I also happen to be very into music. In an ideal world I'd be a famous musician," Aaron says, and it doesn't sound like he's taking the piss.

"Yeah? You like singing?"

"I like it, sure, but it doesn't like me. I sound like a dying seal," Aaron says, making Harry snort. "I'm more of a musician-musician, you know? I love playing instruments."

"Can I guess what instruments you play?" Harry says.

Aaron spreads his arms, smiling. "Go on."

Harry purses his lips. "The guitar, of course. That's kind of a requirement if you wanna be a musician. Maybe the ukulele as well. Um, the flute too." Harry pauses and takes in Aaron's well-defined biceps. He nods to himself and says, "Drums. Definitely drums."

Aaron looks delighted. "Bravo. You got it all right. I also play the triangle, by the way. You shouldn't have left that out."

Harry laughs. Aaron flexes his bicep, smirking. "Did this give me away as a drummer?"

Harry feels flustered for whatever fucking reason, but before he can say anything, Casey walks by their table and hits Aaron upside the head.

"What the fuck?" Aaron whirls around, his voice high-pitched.

"Don't scare the poor kid, Aaron. Take it easy," Casey tells him, but she's grinning. She winks at Harry before continuing past them to collect an empty tray from a table behind them.

Harry feels like he's missing something here, especially when he looks back at Aaron and he looks quite embarrassed. Aaron says, "Sorry 'bout that."

Harry doesn't know what he's apologizing for but he just smiles. "It's okay. Um. You were telling me about some band you were into, right?"

Aaron's eyes light up. " _Right_. Correct. Here, let me…"

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens an app before handing it over to Harry. Then, Aaron also lets him borrow one of thse wireless earbud things (it's called airpods, apparently), and they spend the next half an hour listening to music with one ear bud each. Aaron plays music from a playlist he made himself, saying that it's a culmination of his music taste as a whole. It's mostly punk rock and rock, though there are also a few catchy pop songs sprinkled here and there.

By the time Aaron's break is finished, Harry's already finished his food without noticing. He gives back Aaron's phone and airpods with a smile as they both stand up.

Harry doesn't know what to say, really. What do friends say to each other after a meal? Should he even be calling Aaron his friend? Maybe he should stay, actually, since it would be rude for him to leave after eating—

"Thanks for keeping me company," Aaron tells him, smiling softly.

Harry wants to tell him that it's the other way around, that ever since they started talking roughly a week ago, Aaron has kept him company during such terrible times and Aaron doesn't even know it.

"Um. Thanks for, like, letting me borrow your phone," is what Harry ends up saying.

"It's nothing. I love to boast about my music taste to my friends even though they're all really basic. I hope you liked them, though."

"Loved," Harry says a bit too enthusiastically. He backtracks, "I mean—they're great. I enjoyed them."

"That's great to hear. Feeds my already inflated ego," Aaron says with that stupid half-smile half-smirk again.

"Aaron, you don't get paid to flirt with customers!" It's Casey again, and this time Harry actually blushes. Aaron gives her the finger before turning back to Harry, looking considerably more sheepish than before.

"I'll go ahead, thanks for...thanks for today," Harry says, and he really means it. For Aaron, it's probably just him killing time during his lunch break. He probably finds Harry weird because he clearly has no friends and has a flip phone in 2021. He probably pities Harry. It sucks and it shouldn't hurt as much as it does, but Harry chooses to focus on the fact that he's never felt more relaxed than he did just now. Aaron can think of him as a pathetic little loner freshie all he wants because at the end of the day, it's still a hundred times better than what he really is.

"Text me, yeah? I wanna know what your favorite song is from my playlist," Aaron says as he walks backward on his way to the counter. Harry stifles a laugh when he nearly trips on a carpet's loose flap.

"I will," Harry says, waving. "Bye."

When Harry walks out of the café, he pretends for a little longer. He pretends that he's just come from a lunch with his uni friends, and he's on his way back to his dormitory to catch up on the sleep he lost from his all-nighters. He pretends that his body aches because they had a difficult warm-up drill for PE. He pretends that when the weekend comes, he has a family to come home to—a family who misses him every second he's away for school.

He pretends, but reality is still a stronger force than any of his little fairytales. The illusions never last long.


	5. Chapter 5

Logan is perhaps one of the hardest puzzles to solve.

There's a certain truth to Harry being Logan's "favorite", but it's never that simple. During the first few weeks of Harry staying at his apartment, Logan was nothing but strict. Harry quite literally shook from head to toe every time Logan so much as glanced his way. After sex, Logan would insist that Harry sleep in his bed. Harry practically turned to stone whenever that happened, still and unmoving under Logan's arm, not daring to breathe too hard or move wrong. To say Harry was terrified of him was an understatement.

Harry is still terrified of him now, of course, but after nearly a year of living with him, Harry's picked up on a few of his nuances. There are days when Logan's as cold as ice and lashes out on Harry every chance he gets. He doesn't touch Harry unless it's to slap him across the face. Some days, it's like a switch is flipped, and he can't seem to get enough of Harry. They fuck for hours on end, Harry's wrists pinned to the mattress above his head while he looks up Logan's face—he always has an unreadable expression during those times. His eyebrows are furrowed, pupils blown wide with lust, and there's anger in his gaze, but also a certain softness that sometimes jumps out unexpectedly when he ruffles Harry's hair or kisses his cheek.

Harry doesn't think that people like Logan are capable of loving others besides themselves, but at the very least, he thinks Logan pities him and is therefore less intense with his punishments and actions towards Harry. Harry isn't naïve enough to think that Logan wouldn't blow his head off if he has to, but Harry's delusional enough to think he'd at least think twice before pulling the trigger.

Today, Logan wakes him up only two hours after he fell asleep. Groggily, Harry sits up in bed and wipes the sleepiness away from his eyes to find Logan standing by the foot of the bed, his face passive as he watches him.

"Get showered and dressed. We leave in ten minutes," Logan says before promptly leaving the room.

Harry does as told. He's not sure what to wear, so he puts on a pair of dark jeans and a T-shirt with a low-sloping neckline. Whether Logan is just going to bring him to the grocery store or shove him into a stranger's car to service a customer, the outfit does the job.

In the car, Logan is quiet. He's not playing music nor is he whistling a random tune. Immediately, Harry knows he's in one of his moods. It's been a few weeks since Gemma's letter arrived, and though Logan made sure to show him how disappointed he was in Harry, he didn't say anything about the topic again. Harry knows Logan isn't going to let it go so easily, which makes Logan all the more scarier right now as he grips the steering wheel hard, his knuckles turning white.

Logan is a puzzle that Harry tries to solve constantly, but time and time again, he ends up scarred and wounded by his sharp edges. Harry never learns and the cycle continues. 

Quietly, they drive for nearly an hour, and it isn't until they're pulling up at a parking lot that Harry's heartbeat spikes up as he recognizes the place.

"Out," Logan says as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. 

Harry's legs feel wobbly as he gets out of the car. Logan slams the door closed, making him jump. Harry stares up at the building's plain white exterior. The name of the center stands out in its all-caps bold letters— _HEALING PATH REHABILITATION CENTER_. 

Logan appears behind him, setting a firm grip on his hip and urging him forward. Harry swallows past the lump in his throat, his eyes trained on the ground as Logan leads them into the center. When the gray pavement turns into pristine white tiles, Harry takes a shuddering breath before finally looking up. Logan is talking to a medical receptionist beside him. Harry's still reeling from the shock of being brought back here and barely hears Logan's words, but he does catch the name— _Amanda Suarez_. It's the made-up name she's admitted under.

"Visiting hours end at 5 PM," the receptionist tells them, gesturing towards a large set of wooden double doors on their right.

"Thank you. Have a good day," Logan says with a smile before taking Harry's hand and pulling him along.

Harry doesn't feel awake. It's like there's an extra layer over everything—a glossy film or plastic wrap that makes everything seem like a dream. A nightmare. Either works. Still, he stumbles after Logan until they arrive at a canteen with tables and chairs littered all over the large room. There are floor-to-ceiling windows at one side of the room, allowing natural light into an otherwise dull and prison-like space.

They walk past several occupied tables. There are families and couples and friends, all gathered here for the same reason. Harry has forgotten what this place is like, hasn't been here in years, and the realization makes his head spin.

Somehow, Harry and Logan are already sitting at one of the tables nearest to the window. Harry's staring straight ahead, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He clenches his jaw when Logan rests his palm on Harry's thigh.

"Be good, alright? We're just here for a little visit," Logan says.

Harry nods stiffly, still not looking at him. Predictably, this pisses Logan off because he grabs Harry's chin and turns his head to the side before planting a hard kiss on his lips. Harry wants to pull away, wants to slap his stupid face and yell at him because what the _fuck_ is Logan doing bringing him here? Why the fuck are they here?

Thankfully, Logan pulls away from him before Harry actually does something he'll regret. Logan's eyes glint with malice as he stares down at Harry.

"I'll lead the conversation. Say one wrong thing and I'll let Ricky and his men punish you this time around, got it?"

Harry doesn't back down from his gaze. With a clenched jaw, he nods.

"Good. Put on a smile for your Mama, won't you?"

A door opens at the other end of the room. Harry goes rigid. He stares at an odd dent in the wooden table as footsteps approach them, followed by the sound of a chair's legs scraping the floor. A shadow falls upon the table.

"Anne, how have you been?" Logan's tone is sweet.

Harry feels like puking. He can't look up. He _can't_. Fuck Logan for knowing all the right ways to really get under his skin and mess with his head. _Fuck him_.

"I'm doing alright. I'm surprised you came to visit," Anne says. Harry isn't looking at her but he knows that that was directed at him. 

The last time Harry saw his mother was about a year ago. She was still suffering from withdrawal then, so when Harry came to visit, she was barely even herself. Harry bets she probably doesn't remember it. She sounds a lot better now, more put-together and awake, but all Harry can picture is her pale, sweaty face pressed against the kitchen floor of their old home, the inside of her arm punctured by a needle that tipped her over the edge that night.

"We've been busy. It's a long drive, and we only found the time to come by. We're sorry we weren't able to come here any sooner," Logan says.

Anne sighs. "That's fine. Frankly I don't see the point of visitations, anyway. I'll be out of here soon. So it doesn't really matter if you come here to see me as if I'm an inmate."

Harry flinches when Logan tightens his hold on his thigh. "That's good to hear, Anne. I'm sure you and Harry can discuss going out for some coffee to catch up when that happens, yeah?"

That's his cue. Harry smiles thinly, glancing at Logan first before finally looking at his mother. She looks a bit healthier and put on a bit of weight since her clothes aren't hanging off her frame like a hanger anymore. Her dark hair has a shine to it that wasn't there before, and her skin looks like it's touched by sunlight regularly. Her eyes are tired and dull. She's looking at Harry cautiously, and Harry imagines he has the same exact look on his face.

"Sure," Harry mumbles.

Harry knows how this goes. His mother will leave rehab, live a few months in a dingy apartment in the city with her stoner friends, then she'll relapse in no time and get thrown back into this very same place. It's clockwork and Harry has seen it happen so many times that he'd be surprised if it changed any time soon. Mom doesn't know that, though. Or at least she doesn't accept that this is what her life has become, because every single time, she seems hopeful to start anew and fix her shitty life. Still, she succumbs to her addiction without fail.

"I know you're busy and all, but make time for me, will you? Your sister already fucked off to who knows where, I don't need you disappearing too," Anne says.

It's funny how she can still turn this around and find a way to scold _him_ when she's the one admitted into a rehabilitation facility for the umpteenth time.

"Sorry. I'll try," is all Harry says.

Anne rolls her eyes and turns to Logan. "Talk to him, will you? He only seems to listen to you. He seems to care more about his boyfriend now than his own mother."

Logan laughs. Harry has to close his eyes and take a deep breath.

"That's not true. Harry's just a bit preoccupied with our small business, aren't you, babe?" Logan says, sickeningly sweet, and presses a kiss to his temple.

Harry just nods, and then Logan is turning back to Anne with a wide grin.

Oftentimes, Harry wonders if Anne really believes their little show. If she's so unfamiliar with her own son that she believes that Harry's living with a long-term boyfriend and running a small bakery in the city. It's the drugs, he thinks. The drugs have fucked up Anne's brain so much through the years that she merely glosses over everything and doesn't truly care about anything unless it can be shot into her system and make her fly. Perhaps, if she finds out that Harry's so-called boyfriend has been pimping him off to men thrice his age for two years now, she'll think it's a joke and laugh before brushing it off and talking about something else.

The sad part is that Harry remembers a time when his mother wasn't gripped by her addiction yet. Harry used to call her the "best mom in the world," used to write letters for her and draw four stick figures with large smiles, hand in hand. Now, all Harry has are blurry memories of better days when he didn't have to fear waking up and finding his mother sprawled on the ground, covered in her own puke because she took too much heroin for her frail body to handle. 

Harry barely talks after that, barely even listens. He can tell from Logan's constantly tightening grip on his thigh that he doesn't like it, but Harry can't find it in himself to care. Anne doesn't try to get him to talk, at least, and pretends like he's not even there to begin with. Harry takes it as a win.

When it's time to leave, they exchange hugs. Harry catches a whiff of Anne's perfume—the same potent scent that stuck to Anne's pillowcase, one that Harry tried so hard to preserve when Anne was taken to the hospital the night of her OD. Harry was alone in their house that night. He was convinced that he would be alone from then on, with Gemma, his Dad, and possibly his Mom all gone.

It was the same night Logan's men came knocking at their front door.

"Take care, alright? I'll see you soon," Anne murmurs as they pull away from the hug. Harry nods and leaves a peck on her cheek.

"Let's go, babe. We don't want to get stuck in traffic," Logan says, taking Harry's hand and intertwining their fingers. Anne smiles at the gesture.

"Take care of my baby," Anne tells Logan. 

Tears spring to Harry's eyes as he balls his free hand into a fist.

"I will," Logan says. He's a good actor, Harry will give him that.

Once they're back in the car, Harry's first tear drops. Logan starts the engine but he doesn't start driving.

"Anne looks great. I feel like it'll finally work out this time around," Logan says.

Harry scrubs at his face, tears blurring his vision. His voice is small but edged with hardness when he says, "What is all this, Logan?"

"Your Mom misses you. I know you two have issues, but c'mon Harry, you can't ignore each other forever."

This is the Logan that Harry despises the most. The one who likes playing games and fucking with his brain just because he can. It gives him a sense of power over Harry, to be able to destroy him not only physically, but in every other aspect as well.

Harry huffs. Taking a deep breath, he says, "Please. Whatever you're doing, just stop."

"Since when do you give the orders around here?"

"I don't know what you want from me," Harry hisses, unable to hold back. He closes his eyes but _that_ night is still burned into the back of his eyelids—Anne's lifeless body, the strange men at the door, the smell of cigarettes and gunpowder.

It was the night that changed everything. Logan _loves_ to make him relive it, and his favorite way of doing so is through Anne. He loves mocking his pain and trauma, he fucking gets off on it. But Harry doesn't expect anything less from him.

"You know what I want," Logan says slowly. "I told you not to make this harder on yourself than it has to be, but you love being stubborn for no fucking reason."

Logan reaches over and grips his jaw, forcing Harry to look at him. "Will you do as I say, or do I have to arrange a little accident at the rehab center so this will be the last time you see your mother?"

Harry whimpers. "No—don't hurt her, _please—_ "

"Then you're going to fucking help us find your sister, you got it?"

A sob tears through his throat as he nods as best as he can with Logan's harsh grip on him. His chest feels like it's closing in on itself, because this can't be happening. Logan has been threatening Anne's safety to make sure that Harry stays an obedient little pet for years now. Harry doesn't think they'll actually kill Anne because that would mean they don't have a leverage against Harry anymore. They _can't_.

"Don't think I won't, Harry. Do you know how many heroin addicts die by suicide every year? Thousands. Your mother will be added to the list and no one will bat an eye. Don't fucking force me to do it," Logan spits. 

Harry thinks about Gemma and her kid, how she probably has a decent place of her own now. He wonders if she's still with Raymond after all these years. He wonders if his niece or nephew goes to school, carrying a little lunch box and a backpack. Harry will _never_ forgive himself if anything happens to them because of him, but he also cannot live with himself if he causes his own mother's death to protect them.

"You can't do that," Harry hears himself say through the haze in his head. He cries into his hands, shaking his head. "You promised you wouldn't hurt Mom if I was good and didn't run away, you _promised_ me—"

"And you're not being fucking cooperative right now, are you? I'll kill your mother because you're pissing me off, and when I find your sister, it'll be her kid's head that I hold a gun to, you understand? Piss me off like this and then that kid's blood will be on your hands."

"Stop," Harry cries, his chest heaving, "just—don't do anything, d-don't hurt Mom or Gemma or the kid—" Harry chokes on his spit, shaking his head frantically at Logan, "I'll be good—I'll cooperate. _Please._ I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Logan's gaze is still hard, but his shoulders relax. He doesn't say anything as he pulls out of the parking lot. Harry cries the whole way back to the apartment, trying in vain to muffle the sound in his hands. It finally sinks in that he just agreed to drag Gemma into this hell, that he'll actively help in getting her here and ruining her life—her _kid's_ life—and Harry has never hated himself more.

Logan drops him off a few blocks away from his client's hotel. Preston doesn't question his puffy and red-shot eyes and only comments that he's three minutes late. When they're done fucking and Preston goes to the bathroom, Harry stares up at the cracked ceiling, barely awake and numb.

×××

Harry gets drunk later that night. One of his regulars, Michael, takes him out to dinner and gets him drunk on beer and vodka when they return to his house. Harry's so drunk that he barely gets hard when Michael fucks him on the kitchen counter and then on the cold tile floor. For a while, he thinks Michael invited a third person in, but then it might've just been his dizziness that made him see two of the same person. 

When the night ends, Harry is sent off wrapped up in Michael's brown coat and a hard kiss on the mouth. Harry tucks the money in his jeans and wobbles down the street, barely able to walk a straight line.

Halfway back to the apartment, he gets nauseous and ends up sitting on the cold pavement, his back pressed against what looks like an abandoned shop's brick wall. There's a flickering streetlight across him and about three homeless people lying on the ground a few buildings down.

He's staring up at the starless sky when he feels a vibration against his thigh. With barely-functioning fingers, he manages to pull his phone out. It's a text from Aaron. He brings the phone screen directly in front of his face so the letters would stop moving and jumping about.

Harry doesn't understand what Aaron's saying aside from that it has something to do with his thesis and nachos. His phone slips out of his hands and he flails his hands around, catching it just right before it hits the ground. He lets out a breath of relief.

"Hello?"

Harry whips his head to the side. The sidewalk is empty.

"Hello? Are you there, Harry?"

It's his phone. 

"What?" Harry says, pressing his phone to his ear.

"You called, what's up?" Aaron says from the other line. It sounds like he's in a crowded place because Harry can hear several other voices and the dull thump of bass from a speaker.

"I did?"

"Yeah," Aaron says with a laugh. "I don't mind. I'm just curious since it's...three in the morning. Why are you still up?"

Harry nearly drops his phone again as he tries to move around and find a more comfortable sitting position. Can pavements be comfortable? 

"What?" Aaron says, laughing again.

"What?"

"You said 'can pavements be comfortable.' Is that some kind of knock knock joke or something?" He sounds amused.

"A knock knock joke would begin with 'knock knock!' then you'll say 'who's there?'" Harry says, his words slurring.

"Good point," Aaron says lightly. "As pleased as I am that you called me, I'm starting to think that you actually drunk-dialed me."

"Why would you—" Harry hiccups, "—say that?"

"You're clearly drunk, Harry. Here I was thinking you were a responsible, grade-conscious freshie who went to bed at ten every day," Aaron says. Harry can almost imagine the teasing smile on his face.

Harry hums. There's a sewer rat crossing the street. "Sorry."

"Don't be, I'm just teasing," Aaron says. "Where are you? You out with some friends?"

"I don't have friends."

There's a beat of silence, and then, "Well, does that mean you're getting drunk with your family? If so, they're pretty awesome."

"They're not awesome," Harry mumbles. The homeless man lying on the ground a few feet away from him stirs a bit but doesn't wake up. "I'm getting drunk with homeless people," he says, giggling.

Aaron lets out a surprised laugh. "You're not making any sense right now." 

"You're right. I actually got drunk with Michael. Michael's nice, compared to the others," Harry says with a wistful sigh. "He has a kid though, I'm pretty sure."

"Alright, Harry," Aaron's voice sounds clearer now, the background not as noisy as it was earlier. "I'm in the club with some friends, and I'm guessing you are too. Tell me where you are and maybe I can swing by to say hi?"

"Not at a club," Harry says, shaking his head. 

"Well, are you with someone? Someone that can help you get home? You sound really drunk."

"No," Harry says quietly. He plays with the hem of Michael's coat and sniffles. "I'm alone."

"Where are you? I have a car, I can drive you home. It's too late for you to be out," Aaron says firmly.

Harry laughs lightly. "Never too late to be out. The night is our friend!"

"Okay, but seriously, I'm worried. Can you tell me where you are?"

Harry clumsily stands up and nearly topples over once he's on his feet. Thankfully there's a wall beside him. "Dunno. Just—I'm walking back to the apartment right now, it's so cold, I'm—"

"Jesus Harry, why are you alone? Can you please find a coffee shop or somewhere you can stay for a bit while I drive to you?" 

Harry walks past the homeless man and drops some of Michael's money into his empty can. "Why are you so nice, Aaron?"

Aaron makes a surprised sound. "We're friends, Harry. I want you to be safe. You shouldn't be getting drunk on your own."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you might get into an accident and—"

"We're friends?" Harry asks, clutching the streetlight as the ground seemingly shakes under his feet.

Aaron's voice is soft when he says, "Yes, Harry. You're my friend and I'm yours, too, if you like. Now, as a pair of good friends, can you tell me where you are?"

Harry looks up and realizes he's probably lost. He doesn't recognize the quiet eeriness of these vacant streets. "Um. Well, I thought I was going the right way but apparently not…"

"That's okay, can you find some type of landmark, like a convenience store or some shop that I can find instead?"

Harry walks around the block until he finds a McDonald's. He tells Aaron this, along with the name of the street that it's on.

"Okay, I'm already driving. Don't hang up, alright? Can you go inside and sit at one of the tables while you wait for me?"

Harry says yes and sits down at one of the booths near the windows. It's still dark out, but there's a tint of bright blue in the sky already.

"You know," Harry says into his phone, "you have a very pretty voice."

Aaron laughs. "Why thank you, Harry. So do you."

Harry isn't sure what happens next, but apparently he passed out because Aaron's softly shaking his shoulders when he wakes up.

"Hey," Aaron says, smiling. He's wearing a black jumper and jeans, his eyes tired. He sits down beside him with a hand on the side of Harry's neck. Harry enjoys the warmth of his hand. "Are you okay? I got worried when you stopped answering my questions on the phone."

"Sorry. Fell asleep, I think," Harry mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He winces when he realizes he's got a headache.

"That's okay. I'm gonna order some food for us, alright?"

Harry folds his arms on the table and rests his head on them, looking up at Aaron. "'Kay."

When Harry gets some water and coffee in his system, he feels a bit better. He's noticeably more clear headed, but he's still not sober and his head still hurts. Whatever, it's still progress.

"So, are you going to share your little adventure tonight with me?" Aaron says jokingly, but Harry knows he's really looking for an explanation about why Harry's drunk at three in the morning with no one to take him home.

"Just…" Harry drawls, circling the rim of his coffee cup with his finger. "I was on a date."

"Yeah?" Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Was it with the Michael guy you mentioned on the phone?"

Harry nods. It's not exactly a lie.

Aaron leans forward, eyes glinting. "Let me guess—did the date go south when you found out he had a kid? You also happened to mention that."

Harry groans, making Aaron laugh. 

"Don't be embarrassed. I had a date before, and let's just say that I nearly killed her that night. We had a cute little picnic date and it was going really well at first. After a single bite from the peanut butter sandwich I prepared, I found out the first fact about her—she's allergic to peanuts, like, _badly_ allergic."

Harry winces. "That's—wow. Did she end up okay?"

"Yeah. She never returned my calls or anything, but she did survive."

Harry lets out a breath of relief. Aaron grins at his reaction and says, "See? However bad you think your date went, just remember that there are always worse ones."

Aaron keeps the conversation flowing as they eat, but eventually, Harry feels that familiar turn in his stomach. It must show on his face because Aaron's immediately at his side, rubbing his back comfortingly.

"Do you need the bathroom?" Aaron asks worriedly.

And so, they end up in the McDonald's bathroom stall, Harry bent over the toilet puking his guts out while Aaron holds his hair back and rubs soothing circles into his back.

He helps Harry to the sink and lets him wash his mouth. When he's done, Harry turns to him with a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

"It's human nature, you're totally fine," Aaron says with a grin.

Aaron insists on driving him home and Harry doesn't overthink it when he agrees.

"Not to sound like your mother, but you really shouldn't be walking around drunk in the middle of the night," Aaron says as he pulls out of the parking lot, giving Harry a pointed look.

Harry ducks his head and fiddles with his fingers. "You're right. Sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Also, can I just say that your date was a total douchebag? He's supposed to drive you home. It's only polite," Aaron says. The skin between his eyebrows is pinched and his mouth is set on a thin line. 

Harry laughs lightly. "No, he was okay. I wanted to go home alone so I just...did. It was stupid."

Aaron's face softens. He turns to look at Harry and says, "If there are any other failed dates in the future, give me a call and I'll be your ride home."

Harry thinks he's just trying to be funny, but Aaron looks serious. Harry fumbles for something to say. "That's—um, thank you. That's very kind."

"Anything for a friend," Aaron says, patting his knee.

Harry gives him directions to Logan's apartment but asks to be dropped off a few blocks away, just because he can't have Aaron showing up at Logan's apartment complex under any circumstance. 

When Aaron pulls over, Harry says, "I'm sorry I called out of nowhere. You were out with your friends and you didn't have to—"

"Harry," Aaron cuts him off softly, turning in his seat to face him. "I didn't do anything I didn't want to, okay? Plus, I'm glad you called. I care about you and I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

It's a testament to how much Harry craves affection when tears immediately spring to his eyes just by hearing those words. He looks away and stares down at his lap. "Okay. Thank you."

"You're welcome. And I really meant it when I said you're my friend. I'm always here to help no matter what. Promise me you'll call if you need anything?" Aaron says, his voice so unbelievably soft and genuine that Harry doesn't quite know how to react to it.

"Promise," Harry says, looking up to find him smiling.

"Great. Come by the café when you can, alright? I need an excuse to hang out with you."

Harry laughs. "Okay. I'll be there."

They say goodbye and Harry steps out of the car, turning around to wave at him through the window. Harry watches as he drives away, and for the first time in a while, he doesn't feel completely numb.


	6. Chapter 6

"If you mess this up, your mother will fucking pay for it, you got it?"

Harry's sitting at the dining table while Logan stares him down from where he's standing across him. There's a phone on the table, and Ricky is watching them from the couch, his gun resting casually on his thigh.

Harry nods, clutching the piece of paper in his hands. Logan hits the record button and Harry starts reading.

"Hi, Gems. I got your message. Mom and I are okay, we've been laying low in the city for a while now. We've been so worried about you. How are—how are you? Your baby? We really want to get back in touch with you…"

Harry's mouth feels dry as he continues reading the words Logan wrote down. He tries to keep the shakiness from his voice and hopes that he doesn't sound robotic. Or maybe, secretly, he hopes his fear and anxiety can be heard in every single word he's reading, and he hopes Gemma will pick it up when she listens to the voicemail.

He reads out a house address he doesn't recognize and asks Gemma to come see them there. Repeatedly, he says how he wants it to "just be the three of them" and Harry can only hope that Gemma's not stupid enough to come alone.

When he's done, Logan takes the phone and slips it into his pocket. His face is impassive as he rounds the table and sits down next to him. Harry glances at Ricky who looks quite bored. 

Logan rubs at his arm, his tone condescending as he says, "Isn't this great? We're arranging a family reunion for you."

Ricky snorts. Harry doesn't give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him and merely stares straight ahead.

Luckily, Logan seems to be in a relatively good mood because he doesn't call Harry out for it and simply stands up, smirking. "We can invite her over any time."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" Ricky chimes in, standing up as well. "To get the Styles kids on a leash, huh?"

Harry isn't looking at them. He hasn't eaten anything all day but his stomach is turning and he feels like puking.

"I'll give you a little piece, don't you worry. I always share."

There's a bark of laughter. Harry's nails bite into his palms as he curls his hands into fists under the table.

Money lands on the table in front of Harry. Then Logan says, "Buy us some beer. We're also out of groceries, so sort that out, will you?"

Harry takes the money and heads straight to the door. Ricky slaps his ass as he passes him, then they're both laughing as Harry makes it out to the hallway. He doesn't realize he's only wearing a thin T-shirt without a coat until he's already walking down the sidewalk, arms wrapped around himself in a vain attempt to keep himself warm.

He doesn't recall much about how he makes it to the grocery store. Harry has a lot of moments like that—blacking out but without the passing out part. There are large gaps in his memory, and whenever he reaches some sort of consciousness, his mind feels sluggish and his thoughts all over the place. He used to panic when this happened—suddenly realizing he's in someone's bed, or that he walked seven blocks past Logan's apartment without noticing and without remembering how it happened. Now, though, there's some relief in it. He feels so out of it, almost like he's drugged, that he doesn't have to deal with his thoughts for longer than necessary. Harry's certain that a psychologist would have a fancy, hard-to-spell word for it, but all Harry knows is that it has something to do with the pain and trauma he endures every day. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter.

Harry goes straight to the public bathroom instead of rushing to get Logan his stupid beer. He locks himself in one of the stalls and waits for tears to fall. His chest feels heavy and overcome by guilt—he knows what he did, that by cooperating with Logan, he's helping him bait Gemma into getting dragged into this mess, into this life that she shouldn't even be remotely concerned with. Like himself, Gemma was just born into a fucked-up family with fucked-up parents, and now they're being punished simply because they share the same blood as their father.

Harry stops himself there—the mere thought of his father makes rage spread through him, so he forces himself to stop thinking and just _float_ like he always does. Existing and not existing at the same time. Harry would like to think he's mastered the art of it, of acting untouchable and retreating into that familiar, safe space in the depths of his mind where no rough hands and guns and alcohol-stained breath can reach him, but there are days like this when he just can't seem to shut his brain off. He can't float and therefore has to trudge through the dirty murkiness of the hell he belongs to and the very messiness of his own brain. He trudges and kicks and runs, and eventually, he drowns.

"Oi, is this stall occupied?"

Harry flinches when someone knocks on his door. He stands up and wipes at his cheeks only to realize that they're dry. Perhaps he's all out of tears after all.

"Uh, hold on. I'm coming out," Harry says croakily. He walks out of the bathroom with his head down, avoiding everyone's gazes as he heads to the groceries section and takes a cart.

It's still cold inside despite the heating system. His teeth chatter as he reaches for two packs of beer and some canned goods. He's sure it isn't normal for someone to feel so cold all the fucking time, but he thinks it has something to do with his overly-skinny body. Panic rips through him when he thinks of what this means for his job—his clients might get turned off if they feel like they're fucking a skeleton with barely any fat or heat to hold onto and feel. With that in mind, he puts several packets of chips and bread in his cart, making a mental note to eat a ton tonight.

"Harry?"

Harry freezes. He hopes to god this person isn't one of his clients. What kind of cheating husband would acknowledge the whore he fucks in his downtime at a fucking grocery store?

He takes a pack of yogurt from the freezer and pushes his cart along, pretending he didn't hear the person calling his name. He's not in the right state to deal with creepy, stalker-ish clients right now. It's happened more times than Harry would like—clients who'd get so attached to him and seek him out outside of their arrangements. He has Logan to deal with those people for him, but right now, Harry doesn't want Logan to get satisfaction out of knowing how much Harry needs him.

"Harry!" the person says again, accompanied by rushed footsteps. 

Harry jolts so hard when he feels a hand on his elbow that he nearly sends an entire shelf of cookies tumbling to the floor.

"Fuck—sorry, sorry," Harry says instinctively. He doesn't even know who he's apologizing to. The packs of cookies, maybe. Harry kneels on the floor to pick up the few pieces that fell from the shelf and shakily returns them to their designated spots.

"Didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry. Here, let me help," says the person, kneeling down Harry to take the cookie boxes from him and help him out. It takes Harry a while to recognize who it is and lets out a sigh of relief.

Aaron smells strongly of aftershave and minty perfume. He's wearing a leather jacket as well as a smile as he catches Harry's eyes.

"Sorry. I thought—I thought you were someone else. Didn't mean to freak out," Harry mumbles, putting back the last fallen cookie pack before standing up and dusting off his jeans.

Aaron follows and stands up as well. Harry vaguely notes how Aaron slightly towers over him, but unlike the other men that makes him feel small, Aaron doesn't intimidate him or make him feel unsafe. Aaron may be tall and relatively muscular, but Harry doesn't feel the need to cower or shield himself from a punch he always feels like is coming.

"No, no. _I'm_ sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed you like that," Aaron says. He sounds like he means it. Aaron tacks on a smile—a familiar smile that Harry has come to know these past few weeks. "I just saw you and thought I'd say hi. I'm buying groceries with my roommate, but I'm not sure where he went. I'll have to look at the chocolate and candy aisle, maybe."

Harry smiles. "Well, um. Yeah—I'm buying groceries for me and my roommate as well."

Aaron looks at his cart, nodding. "Hmm. You must be a great roommate if you're okay with doing all the grocery shopping by yourself. My roommate, Steven, will push back grocery shopping for _weeks_ just to make sure that I'm here to help him out."

"Well, Log—um, my friend's kind of busy, so I don't mind," Harry says quietly.

"You just proved my point," Aaron says, grinning. "You're an absolute angel."

It's weird to hear a compliment that isn't only said as a foreplay to fucking. "I'm not sure about that, but thanks."

"You're welcome," Aaron laughs. He picks up a loaf of bread from Harry's cart and frowns. "This bread is shit, by the way. Tastes like cardboard."

"Oh," Harry says. "Um. Sorry. I don't usually buy bread so I didn't know."

"I have a few bread recommendations, if you don't mind my company," Aaron says jokingly. He looks hopeful for some reason—but also nervous, like he's worried Harry might get pissed at him or tell him to fuck off.

"It'd be my honor," Harry says and flashes him a dimpled smile to quell his nervousness, whatever the cause of it. Aaron's shoulders relax, and he gives that bright smile again. Harry feels like he's looking directly at the sun.

Somehow, they spend the next half hour walking around the store and filling up Harry's cart. Aaron was serious when he said he has recommendations, because he also suggests new brands to replace the milk, eggs, and spreads that Harry already had in his cart. Harry doesn't mind, not really, but he hopes he doesn't go past the budget.

"How are you, by the way?" Aaron says as they walk down the laundry detergent aisle. "I mean, we haven't really talked after that night I drove you home. I hope I didn't say or do something to, like, offend you? If so, you can tell me to fuck off right now—"

"No, no," Harry cuts him off. "Sorry. I was a bit busy for a while, I'm sorry for not responding and stuff. I guess it kind of slipped my mind. That makes me sound like a dick but I swear I didn't mean to—I'm sorry."

Between selling his ass daily, visiting his mom at the rehab center, and responding to Gemma's letter as per Logan's commands, Harry had a lot on his mind and barely enough energy to respond to Aaron's casual, friendly texts. In the beginning he liked how it made him feel like an ordinary person, but lately, Harry can't even pretend anymore. His reality's far too big and haunting to ignore.

"No need to apologize," Aaron says softly. "I was just worried. Sorry if that's weird—I'm just a bit protective over my friends. Hopefully your roommate took care of you when you woke up with a hangover?"

If by "taking care of him" Aaron means Logan fucking Harry while he's passed out from being hungover, then yes, Logan did take care of him.

"Yeah," Harry mumbles, followed by a bitter laugh. He tucks his left hand into his jean pocket as he grips the cart handle with the other, shivering from the cold gust of wind that drifts from an open window. "You can—you can still text me, if you want. I'll make sure to answer this time around. Promise."

Aaron has been the only relatively positive thing in his life lately. As pathetic and selfish as it may seem, Harry doesn't want Aaron to stop talking to him. He enjoys the attention, because for once, it isn't from men who can't stop groping him, men who look at him like a predator would its prey—Aaron calls him his friend and talks to him because he thinks they go to the same university. Harry can't help but feel like he's the predator between him and Aaron, what with him pretending to be someone he's not and taking advantage of Aaron's kindness. 

For once, Harry thinks he can give himself this. For however long he can.

"Of course I want to. But only if you promise me you'll tell me if I start to get annoying," Aaron says with a pointed look.

Harry picks up a bag of onions and tosses it into the cart. "You're never annoying."

"I think I'll keep you around," Aaron says with a laugh, "you're really good for my self-esteem."

"Aaron!"

They both turn around to find a red-headed guy running towards them dragging along an overflowing cart. He stops in front of them, panting. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What's the purpose of your phone if you're not using it?"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Steven, this is literally the smallest grocery store in the area, if you actually looked for me, you would find me quite easily."

Steven opens his mouth to say something, but then his eyes shift to Harry and he suddenly smiles. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't know you had a friend with you. I'm Steven, Aaron's friend and roommate."

"Just roommate," Aaron mutters, earning him a light punch on the arm. Steven turns back to Harry, his smile still there and offers a hand. Harry wants to laugh at the formality of it but just shakes his hand with a small smile.

"I'm Harry," he says.

Steven raises an eyebrow and looks at Aaron, then back at Harry, and then says, "Ah, so you're _the_ Harry. I've heard a lot—oof!"

Aaron tries to cover up elbowing Steven in the gut with a sheepish smile sent Harry's way. Scratching the back of his neck, Aaron says, "So. I hope my product recommendations were helpful. I can personally say that that brand of beans is life-changing."

Harry smiles. "Yeah. Um, thanks. For like, helping me out."

"No problem. I did say you can ask me for help whenever, right?"

"Right." Harry still finds it a bit hard to believe that someone like Aaron would be so willing to help out someone like Harry, but he's already proven himself when he drove Harry's drunk ass home despite them not knowing each other that much aside from texting.

"I hear you go to Holton University too?" Steven chimes in.

Harry presses his lips together. "Uh, yeah."

"Are you going to the party in a few days, then? At Richard's?" Steven asks.

Harry opens and closes his mouth, unsure of how to respond. He can't really say he has school work to catch up with when they're only weeks away from Christmas break, right? "I don't—I don't think I've heard about it. I'm probably not invited."

Steven laughs. "Everyone's invited. It's like a traditional party as a celebration for the semester ending and also an early Christmas celebration. Richard always throws those parties, it's always fun."

"He's in his first year, he wouldn't know that," Aaron scolds Steven lightly. When he turns to Harry, he's smiling again. "It'll be fun. I've been to every single one of those since I was a freshman. It's not too crazy and rowdy. It's just chill."

For a moment, Harry thinks what it would be like if he showed up to a party like that. Would he blend in? Perhaps he'll find a way to embarrass himself during the first ten minutes of arriving. Or, Aaron will realize that literally no one from that party recognizes Harry and that Harry's been pretending all along.

His distress must show on his face, because Aaron says, "You don't have to, of course. You can always attend the ones in the future."

Harry feels his phone vibrating in his pocket and he just knows he's been gone for too long and Logan's getting pissed. "Um. I'll have to see—I'll let you know if I'm free."

"Sure," Aaron says cheerfully.

His phone vibrates again so he mumbles a "sorry" before pulling it out of his pocket. Logan has a few missed calls and texts asking him where he is and why he's taking so long.

"I kind of have to get going," Harry says apologetically. 

"That's fine, text me, alright? I'd love to see you at the party," Aaron says.

"I will," Harry says, already pushing his cart forward. He hopes the lines aren't too long at the cashier. "Bye, Aaron. Nice meeting you, Steven."

Aaron and Steven say goodbye while Harry gives them a small wave. Later, when he's walking back to the apartment carrying several plastic bags, he wonders if in an alternate universe, he would've said yes to that invitation without a second thought.

×××

It's a different level of cruelty to know your abuser's body so well. Harry can tell whether Logan is about to come just from the hitches in his breath, or the slight change in his movements, or even the way he stares down at Harry with sweat dripping from his eyebrow. Harry knows how to make him feel good, how Logan likes him to react to his touches, and how to thoroughly knock him out after sex.

Tonight, Harry takes advantage of his knowledge.

Logan grips his hair roughly as he pounds into him, pulling Harry's head back so he can suck bruises onto Harry's neck. Harry wraps his legs around his hips and whimpers, keeping his hands placed above his head on the mattress.

Logan's drunk on the beer Harry bought him, his breath smelling strongly of alcohol as he pants into his neck and then against his lips. Harry lets himself go pliant and docile as Logan fucks his mouth with his tongue, his beard leaving red marks along the skin around Harry's lips.

"You gonna come?" Logan says with a groan, his movement growing faster and desperate as he rabbits into Harry.

"Mhhm, yes, please," 

"Fucking slut. You're filthy, you know that?" Logan says, gripping his hair tighter and pulling at it harshly.

Harry hisses and turns it into a moan. He nods, "Yes, yes I do,"

"Say it," Logan says roughly, pushing Harry higher towards the headboard as he makes a particularly hard thrust, making Harry gasp. " _Say it!"_

"I'm—I'm a slut," Harry pants, as he shifts his hips back to meet Logan's thrusts.

"You fucking proud of that?" Logan slaps his face, not too hard, but Harry knows it'll leave a red mark on his skin.

Harry doesn't have to answer because it doesn't take long until Logan's going still above him, a shudder running through him as he climaxes. Harry whimpers when Logan roughly jacks him off, and then he's also coming and spilling onto both of their stomachs.

Harry's chest is heaving when Logan gets off him to go to the bathroom. Harry's not sure whether he's going to tell Harry to sleep in the other room or if Logan wants him in his bed tonight, so he lies there for a second, catching his breath. When Logan returns, he cleans Harry up with a wet towel and takes Harry by surprise when he drops a soft kiss onto his lips.

"Sleep," Logan commands, lying down behind Harry and draping an arm over his waist.

"Okay," Harry says quietly. He can feel Logan's breath against the back of his neck, as well as the rise and fall of his chest. In about ten minutes, his breathing slows down, and then he's snoring quietly.

"Logan?" Harry tries. When he doesn't answer, Harry moves around a bit, but Logan doesn't stir. Harry lets him fall deeper into sleep for about half an hour and hopes he'll stay sleeping like a log for longer as Harry nervously bites his nail.

From where he's laying, Harry's facing Logan's bedside table. There's a drawer with a lock in it and Harry watched Logan shove the key into the pocket of his jeans earlier before they fell into bed. Harry's seen him put his important belongings there all the time. Moving his head to the side, Harry can see Logan's jeans on the floor by the foot of the bed.

Taking a deep breath, Harry gingerly lifts Logan's arm off his waist and sets it on the mattress. Once he's sure Logan is still asleep, he rolls off the bed and winces at the springs groaning under his movement. His feet hit the cold wooden floor as he sits, and then he stands up carefully, heart hammering against his chest.

He kneels on the floor and finds the keys in the pocket. Harry crawls towards the bedside table, throwing nervous glances to his side where Logan's facing him. If he suddenly wakes up, he'll immediately see Harry trying to open his drawer and—god, Harry doesn't need to think of the possible consequences right now. He pushes those thoughts aside and unlocks the drawer.

Harry freezes when Logan shifts on the bed, stretching his right arm over his head. Harry's almost afraid to look at his face in case he finds Logan's rage-filled eyes staring right back at him, but when he does look at him, he's still deep in his slumber.

Blowing out a quiet breath, Harry pulls the drawer open. There's a pistol, a wallet, a phone, and several envelopes. Harry struggles to breathe as he looks through the envelopes, eyes scanning the names written and— _there._

Having Gemma's letter in his hands once again makes both fear and relief clash within him. His hands are trembling so bad that he takes much longer than necessary to unfold the letter. He scans the paper until his eyes reach the bottom of the page where Gemma's number and email is written down.

He reads it several times and recites it in his head, hoping to god that his memory won't let him down this one time, until Logan mumbles something into his pillow and Harry's heart nearly leaps out of his chest. Out of panic, he returns the letter in its envelope and back into the drawer, pushing it closed a bit too noisily and locking it with the key. He glances at Logan and allows himself to breathe when he finds that Logan hasn't woken up yet.

After slipping the key back into Logan's jean pocket on the floor, Harry crawls back to bed, his mind whirring as he closes his eyes and recites Gemma's contact information in his head, repeating it like a mantra. Like a prayer, more like, because this is the closest thing to a miracle he's experienced in a while.


	7. Chapter 7

Gemma liked pretending to be a superhero when she was younger. She'd grab a blanket and drape it over her shoulders, dashing through the living room as the cape trailed after her, flailing in the air. Whenever she'd ask Harry to play with her, Harry would excitedly say yes, always up for whatever his big sister wanted.

More often than not, Harry played the victim. He'd cry out for help until Gemma came dashing into the room in her superhero costume (a blanket, Mom's shades, her too-big boots), and let Gemma save him from the evil villain or from the thief who stole his lollipop. Gemma had this certain pose she'd always do—her back straight, one hand on her hip and the other curled into a fist towards the sky—and Harry would cheer whenever she made that pose because he knew it meant she was there to save the day.

Even as they grew older, Gemma was always the hero between them. She gave up school to work early when Mom and Dad's business went bankrupt because Dad had been stealing money for his gambling. She paid attention to Harry when everyone else was too busy with their own problems to notice that he'd gotten too thin or that he had a scar on his knee. She'd take Harry to the arcade and let him have an hour or two of complete bliss and happiness before it's time to go home again.

He loved her, loves her still to this very second. Although there was a time when he felt betrayed by her leaving him behind when she left to start a life of her own with her baby and boyfriend, for the most part, Harry looked up to her and valued their every second together.

She's his hero. During the first few months when Harry was taken by Logan, he'd daydream for the day when Gemma would swoop in and save him from all the bad men. And she did—she sent out a letter, looking for him and Mom even when she could've easily carried on with her life without them.

As much as Harry wants to get out of this life, he also knows that he would much rather spend the rest of his life where he is now than for Gemma to experience the same thing. Harry owes her for everything she did for him, and this time around, it's Harry's turn to play the hero.

It's a chilly evening and not even the coat he's wearing can keep his teeth from chattering. He has a beanie on his head and cotton gloves on his hands, yet his entire body still shakes as he walks down the sidewalk, the cold air nipping at his cheeks.

The holiday spirit is already in the air—several shops along the block already have their Christmas decorations up, while there's one blasting _Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree_ on the speakers. Harry ducks his head to hide his face in his scarf and approaches a phone booth outside a gas station with a flickering light overhead.

He drops a few coins into the machine before pressing the phone to his ear, swallowing as he looks around. The street is quite crowded, filled with kids and families out for dinner or early Christmas shopping. Harry knows it's practically impossible for Logan to be in this area, especially since he's away for a few days because of some business he has to deal with, but Harry's still paranoid. He has to blink a few times when he thinks he sees Logan or Ricky in the crowd, watching him with ugly sneers on their faces. He takes a few deep breaths, telling himself that he's safe and hidden as he dials the number he's been repeating in his head for hours on end, praying that he hadn't somehow messed it up.

Harry holds his breath as the call goes through and listens to the monotonous ringing. Suddenly, it feels warm and humid in the phone booth, and he scans the area one more time as though he's anticipating someone to emerge from the crowd and drag him out of the booth roughly so they can punish him for sneaking around like this and breaking so many rules—

"Hello?"

Harry feels like the entire world comes to a halt right then. All he can hear is his own breathing and the static from the phone. He grips his coat as tears fill his eyes and blur his vision. He hasn't heard her voice in so long.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

She sounds the same, of course, if not a little cautious with her words. Harry can almost imagine her furrowed eyebrows when she concentrates hard. He wonders if she's at home right now—if she's with her kid. If they're safe.

"If you're one of those people who likes prank-calling me, I swear to—"

"Gemma," he croaks. "It's me."

There's a beat of silence, and then, "Oh my god, _Harry?"_

"Yes," Harry says with a laugh, wiping at his wet cheeks. "I missed you."

"Harry, what the fuck," she rushes out, sounding as overwhelmed as Harry feels, "I got your voicemail but you won't pick up when I tried calling you, why—"

"Forget the voicemail," Harry says, sniffling. "That wasn't me. I mean—I was forced to say that. Please Gems, don't go to that address, it's dangerous and all I said there are lies."

"What? What do you mean you were forced?" Gemma's voice is high-pitched and wobbly. "Harry, what's going on?"

The worry in her voice brings fresh tears to his eyes. "Just trust me, okay? It's not safe. Delete that voicemail and no matter what, don't come here."

"Harry—"

"Stop looking for me," Harry says, his throat tightening. "You can go look for Mom, if you want, just not me, okay? It's not safe."

"You're scaring me, what the fuck is going on, Harry?" Gemma sounds like she's seconds away from tears. " _Who_ is forcing you to do stuff? What do you mean it's dangerous?"

"You don't deserve to get dragged into this," Harry whispers shakily. "I can handle myself, just promise me you'll stay out of this—"

"Tell me what the fuck is going on right now," Gemma says, panicked. "A few months ago I find out that Dad's dead, having fucking blown his own head off, and then I couldn't get in touch with you or Mom for months—god, Harry, I was so fucking scared and guilty. I felt like shit and I could barely sleep because I didn't know what was happening to my mother and my baby brother. You can't tell me to just stop looking for you, Harry, what the fuck?"

"I'm sorry," Harry cries and muffles the sound in the sleeve of his coat. "They're going to take you too, Gems, I can't let them—"

" _Who?_ I'll call the police—"

"Don't!" Harry trembles at the thought. "I've tried, okay? They have connections and they're going to hurt Mom or even you, promise me you won't."

"I promised to come back for you," Gemma says firmly, always so strong that Harry wishes she was here to hold him. "I fucked up a lot, okay, but whatever is happening to you, I can help. I was so mad at Mom and Dad that I told myself that staying away from you all—including you, H—was the best decision. I know now that I was wrong, I should have reached out sooner. I know that now. Finding out about Dad woke me up, alright? Right now I don't care about the grudges I'm holding—I miss you so fucking much and I want to be here for you. Just tell me who those people are and I'll get you out of there, okay? I'll get you home."

Harry cries even harder at the thought of going home. Even before everything, when he lived with Mom and Dad, he didn't feel like he was _home_. He's not even sure what home is anymore. He can't imagine a place where he doesn't fear for his own life every waking moment, or where he has someone to turn to that he can trust. It sounds like a fantasy.

"There's no saving me anymore," Harry whispers. 

"Please, Harry," Gemma says desperately, "don't say that. I need you here. You still haven't met Rose." 

Harry's heart leaps. "That's—is that her name?"

"That's your niece, yes," Gemma says. Her breath hitches as she cries. "Please, Harry. Let us help you. I miss you so much and I'm so worried for you and Mom. Just tell me what's happening and we'll fix it, okay? _Please_."

It's quite cruel how Gemma brings up Rose to get through to him. Harry wants to smile and rip his hair out at the same time—he has a _niece_. Does she have Gemma's eyes? Raymond's hair? God. In another world, Harry would've already spoiled her. In another world he'd be with them for Christmas, getting warm by the fireplace while cookies bake in the oven, filling the house up with its sweet aroma. As it is, he's talking to his sister in a dirty phone booth for the first time in years, persuading her to carry on with her life without him.

"I'm sorry," Harry says eventually, his voice breaking. "Just don't come to the address, okay? Don't believe any other call or message who pretends to be me. It's not safe. Stay where you are, okay? I love you so much. Tell Rose I love her, too."

"Harry—"

He hangs up before Gemma can persuade him into something he's not supposed to do. The silence that takes over afterwards is deafening. He tells himself that he did the right thing, that Gemma will thank him for this when the time comes. He still cries, though, cries for every Christmas he's missed and will continue missing without a home, and he cries for himself, because someone has to.

When he steps out of the booth, he wipes his tears away and trudges into the cold once again. It's over. He's done what he needed to do and now he must go back to reality. 

He imagines what Rose must look like, how she sounds and if she even knows who he is on his way back to the apartment. He feels as numb on the inside as he does on the outside from the cold as he wiggles his fingers and toes but doesn't feel a thing.

He doesn't complain, because not feeling a thing is always a form of mercy.

×××

When he makes it back to Logan's apartment, it's quiet and empty. Logan probably won't be back until a few days, so he has the place to himself for a while. He takes a warm shower and forces himself to eat something other than cereal, feeling floaty and barely-there as he sits at the kitchen island, wrapping his hands around a cup of coffee.

His phone buzzes, and when he checks, it's a message from Aaron. It's a picture of two shirts—the first one being a red striped t-shirt and the other one a long-sleeved and plainly black.

_Which one makes me look less like an oldie who's about to graduate and is therefore no longer fun and youthful?_

Harry smiles absently as he sends back, _i like the red one :)_

_Great choice. I was gonna go with that one, too. I hope you'll be at the party tonight to see how well I wear it ;P_

Harry completely forgot about the party. _oh, is that tonight?_

_Yeah, it starts at 9 but people come fashionably late, so I'll say around 10 or 10:30. Will you be there?_

Harry pinches his bottom lip. He looks around the empty apartment and takes note of the haziness in his head. He knows it won't last long and he'll start stressing and overthinking over the next few hours with nothing to keep him occupied, so he texts back: _i'll come. i don't know where that is though_

_How about I pick you up? I'll drive you back as well, if you want :)_

Harry doesn't know what it means, but he already feels better just from the thought of Aaron caring enough to make sure he makes it home safely. He feels warmer, like a blanket has been draped over his shoulders.

_sure. see you_

Harry asks Aaron to pick him up at a nearby 7-Eleven store a few blocks away from the apartment. He puts on a pair of skinny jeans and a lavender jumper which he hopes is enough to keep him warm.

He walks to the convenience store and gets there just as Aaron texts him that he's about five minutes away. Harry stands with his back against the store's window, arms wrapped around himself. Somewhere through the mess in his brain, he thinks about what Logan would do to him if he finds out what he's doing right now.

Aaron pulls up in front of him. Harry almost laughs—it's a too-familiar scenario of when clients would pick him up from the curb to fuck him in the backseat.

Harry rushes inside, greeting Aaron back when he says hello. Once he's in the passenger seat, he puts his hands in front of the heater, teeth chattering.

"Shit, how long have you been standing there? You're freezing," Aaron says, turning the heat up.

Harry shrugs. "Not too long. I'm always cold, don't worry."

"That's not reassuring, to be honest."

Harry laughs. He hopes it doesn't sound forced. "I won't be cold once I have alcohol in my system."

Aaron gives him a pointed look. "Okay, but don't get too trashed, alright? I don't want a redo of the last time I drove your drunk self home."

"Okay, Mom," Harry says. He likes that Aaron feels comfortable enough to tease him around like this. Harry likes some banter every once in a while.

Aaron huffs out a laugh as he starts driving again. "Damn. You said this shirt makes me look young and cool, how come you're calling me Mom?"

Harry glances at his shirt. It does look good on him. It's tight in the right places, showing off his biceps and tattoos along the left side of his neck. Harry doesn't realize his staring until Aaron clears his throat and says, "Well?"

"I like it. You look great," Harry says thoughtfully. "I like your tattoos."

"Ah. See, I got them when I was like eighteen and I did it to look cool. I regretted my first one and cried over it for like, two days, but when I got over it I decided that I actually really liked body art. I've gotten a bunch more since then. My Mom hates me for it, but she barely has to see it anyway, so I don't think it quite matters."

Harry tries to make out the pattern through the dimness inside the car. It's a hand, Harry realizes. A skeleton hand peeking past the neckline of his t-shirt. There's also a deck of cards beside it. Harry's eyes travel down to his right arm, which also has a liberal amount of tattoos. He finds one that he likes the most near his elbow, peeking out from where his sleeves are folded—it's a small skull with flowers blooming around it. Harry traces the tattoo with his finger, leaning in closer to get a better look.

He doesn't realize what he's doing until he notices Aaron's sudden silence. When he looks up, Aaron's watching him with an unreadable expression. Harry pulls his hand back like he's been burned.

"Sorry," Harry mumbles. If he had the energy, he would feel mortified, but right now he just feels…empty.

"It's alright," Aaron says, turning back to the road. "Your finger is just really cold. Got surprised a bit."

"It's 'cause I'm dead inside."

Aaron barks out a laugh. "Oh, aren't we all."

For the rest of the ride, they have an easy-flowing conversation. Harry's quite surprised that he's functioning well enough to manage that. Aaron's great, of course, always funny and genuine and nice—Harry doesn't feel like he deserves his company at all, but he's selfish and he'll take what he can get.

"Are you going home for the holidays, then?" Aaron says when they're looking for a parking spot. Richard's party is inside one of those rich neighborhoods and they have to park at a nearby mall and walk the rest of the way there.

"No." Harry fiddles with his fingers. He remembers the way Gemma said "home" earlier. It makes his chest feel tight. "You?"

"I'm staying here, too. Me and some of my friends are planning to celebrate New Year's together, so might as well stay here until then, you know?" Aaron says, killing the engine. They get out of the car and Harry immediately shivers from the cold.

"Your family's fine with that?"

"Yeah. They're pretty chill. As long as I Skype them and keep them up to date with everything happening with me, they understand. My mother always says that college is when you should be out there exploring and having fun and stuff, so if anything, she'll scold me if I don't do anything remotely adventurous."

They walk down the sidewalk, passing several groups of people their age who also seem to be going to Richard's as well. Aaron greets a few of them with a wave. Harry looks down and focuses on his beat-up shoes.

"How about you? I bet your parents are the proudest people out there," Aaron says.

Harry doesn't like this topic, but he's curious, so he asks, "Why do you think that?"

"You just seem like the perfect child. Like, you get good grades, you're well-behaved and sweet, and you've got your shit together. I don't know. That's my impression of you."

It's so far off that Harry can't help but laugh. "Your first impressions must be shit, then."

"Hey!" Aaron says in faux offense, "Are you telling me I'm wrong?"

" _So_ wrong." Harry snickers.

"Maybe you're just humble because I'm never wrong," Aaron tells him seriously, which makes Harry huff out a laugh.

When they finally make it to Richard's house, the place is half-filled with people clustered in groups, talking and laughing amongst each other. The house is huge, of course, with a spacious front lawn and a bright entryway. Once again, Aaron greets a few people as they make it to the living room and Harry feels like someone threw a bucket of cold water over him to wake him up because _what the fuck is he doing here?_

Aaron's going to hang out with his friends, of course, because he thinks Harry knows some people here as well, when in reality Harry's going to have to find a way to kill time and not make a fool out of himself until Aaron drives him home. Fuck, what's Harry even going to do? Stand in the corner with a beer? Hide in the closet to avoid interrogation? Convince Aaron to let him tag along like a loser?

"C'mon, Harry, I'll introduce you to some friends," Aaron says with a smile, taking his arm and pulling him deeper into the house. 

He can hear a pop song playing in the background and people leaning on the wall with cans of beer or soda. Aaron was right—it's a chill, relaxed party where people just come to eat, drink, and socialize with people. It makes the knot in his stomach loosen.

"Look who's finally here!" comes a familiar voice. It's Steven, Harry remembers him from the grocery store. He's wearing a white shirt, gray joggers, and flip flops. He looks ridiculous since everyone else clearly dressed up while he looks like he just got out of bed. It makes Harry smile a bit.

"Hey," Aaron greets them, giving them quick hugs before returning back to Harry's side and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Everyone, this is Harry. Harry, you've met Steven, then that's Clara, Edmund, Richard. You also know Casey and Tommy."

Harry says hi, returning their enthusiastic smiles as best as he can. He feels a bit awkward as they include Harry in their small talk about school and the upcoming holidays, but Aaron's hand is a comforting weight on his shoulder, like an anchor keeping him steady.

"Here Harry, have a drink," says Richard, a stout guy with an athletic build, appearing beside him with a can of soda and a bottle of beer in each hand. He thanks him and chooses the beer. He realizes that this is the person who threw the party, so he thanks him again, which earns him a smile and a "No problem, dude. Nice to see new faces here."

They stand in a broken circle for about fifteen minutes, jumping from topic to topic. After the initial awkwardness wears off, Harry finds that he doesn't mind these people. He feels calm and unbothered around them, especially with Casey and Tommy who he's known from the café for so long—the couple has a world of their own, whispering into each other's ears and laughing from jokes only shared between them—but from time to time they break their bubble to talk to Harry and ask him about his plans for the weeks to follow, and it makes Harry feel warm inside.

"I'm just gonna stay here. Probably spend Christmas and New Year's with my roommate," Harry says. Their circle has broken up a bit—Aaron leaning more towards Steven and the others while Casey, Tommy, and Harry have a conversation of their own.

"No fun plans?" Casey asks.

Harry traces the rim of his bottle, shrugging. "Dunno. I'll see, I guess."

"If you're free, come celebrate with us on the 28th. We're playing at a small pub, it'll be fun," Tommy says.

"You're playing? You mean, like, as a band?"

"Yup. I'm surprised Aaron hasn't told you about it yet. He loves our band to death and would brag about it to anyone with ears," Casey says, laughing when Aaron looks their way with narrowed eyes.

"I heard my name. Why are you obsessed with me, Casey?" Aaron says airily, standing closer to Harry and throwing an arm over his shoulders. Harry's surprised by the touch, but it's a welcomed one, so he tries not to act too weird in case it causes Aaron to pull his arm off him.

Casey rolls her eyes while Tommy chuckles. "I was telling Harry about the band, dimwit. How come you haven't told him about it yet?"

"I'm curious too," Tommy chimes in, his eyes glinting with malice as he tacks on, "I thought you were showing off to young Harry over here?"

Aaron hits him lightly upside the head. "Very funny, Tom. It never came up, so I forgot to mention it." He turns to Harry, smiling. "Now that you know I'm in a band, you'll never stop hearing me talk about it."

"What's your band called?" Harry asks. He remembers Aaron telling him about his love for playing music, so it definitely makes sense that he has a band.

"We're called The Red, but it's a work in progress," Aaron tells him. "If you have ideas, feel free to tell us. We've changed our names so many times I'm sure no one remembers who we really are."

Harry thinks for a second, then says, "Yeah, you need to come up with something more creative than that."

He doesn't expect it when they laugh, but he's delighted nonetheless.

"It's a date, then? You'll come watch us on the 28th?" Aaron says, eyes bright.

Maybe it's the easiness of being with Aaron and his friends, or the comforting weight and warmth of Aaron's arm wrapped around his shoulders, or the alcohol in his system—but whatever it is, it makes him say yes with a smile.

"Perfect," Tommy says, delighted, at the same time Casey hoots loudly. They're giving Harry and Aaron this weird, almost conspiratorial look, especially with that knowing smirk. Aaron flips them off. Harry feels like he's missing something but just laughs along with them.

Two, three, four beers later, Harry's met about a third of the people in the house. They're all nice and funny, and so far, no one's commented on his ugly dirty shoes or called him out for the fact that they've never once seen him on campus. As the night progresses, Harry feels looser and calmer. Holton University is big with a lot of students—of course most of them would think they just haven't seen Harry around because of their differing schedules, plus the fact that they think Harry's a freshman. It calms something in him, so for the next few hours, he doesn't overthink much and just talks to people and laughs along when jokes are said—it's so easy that he could do this for the rest of his life.

Turns out, he doesn't even have to beg Aaron to keep him company, because he does it willingly. He sticks to Harry's side through the night, introducing him to person after person until Harry can't even remember their names anymore. He's always touching Harry in some way, may it be a light hand on the shoulder, on his waist, or on the small of his back. Harry likes it—it doesn't feel like his clients' rough hands or Logan's commanding grasp. It's safe and comforting and warm. He finds himself pushing back to meet his touch and moving closer to his side until Harry's practically glued to his side at the end of the night.

Harry wouldn't say he's drunk, maybe a few sips past tipsy, but Aaron disagrees. By the time Harry goes to take another bottle from the cooler, Aaron gently grabs his wrist with a stern look. 

"I think you've had quite enough," he says. It doesn't sound patronizing or rude. He just sounds genuinely concerned. Like a mother hen.

"Did you just refer to me as a mother hen?" Aaron says, letting out a surprised laugh. Oops. Harry said that out loud, apparently. Maybe he really is quite drunk if he's unaware of the words slipping past his lips.

"It's a compliment," Harry says, raising his chin defiantly. "I like mothers. And hens."

That makes Aaron laugh again, his eyes crinkling at the corner and lips stretching over his straight, white teeth. "That's one way to compliment someone. You really are different, aren't you?"

Harry nods and tries to sneak his hand into the cooler when Aaron catches him again, guffawing. Harry jokingly struggles against him and he ends up pressed to Aaron's chest, Harry's face on his shoulder while their hands are trapped between them.

"Okay, how about we go sit outside for some fresh air, yeah? Hold on—" Aaron moves away but Harry likes the smell of his cologne and clings to him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. He feels the vibration of Aaron's laugh against his cheek. "Harry, I'm trying to get you water."

"Mother hen," Harry says again against his shirt.

Somehow, Aaron manages to get him outside. There's a bench along the fences in the front lawn, so Aaron guides him to sit there before sitting beside him. Harry's thankful for the fresh air because it is getting a bit crowded inside. He accepts the bottle of water that Aaron hands him, chugging it down to clear his head.

When Harry finishes his water, he turns to find Aaron already looking at him. His smile looks fond.

"Sorry, did you want some?" Harry asks with a frown, holding up the empty plastic bottle.

Aaron shakes his head, the smile never leaving his face. "I already drank some inside."

Harry sways a bit when he turns to fully face Aaron. "You know, you can go hang out with your friends inside if you want. I don't mind."

"I see them all the time already," Aaron says. "I want to hang out with you more, so."

"Thank god for that because it would be so awkward if I stood around there since I don't know anyone."

"You don't know anyone?" Aaron asks, confused.

Fuck. "Um. You know what I mean—like, I hardly know anyone. I'm, like, a loner. Kinda. I don't make friends a lot."

He's relieved that Aaron seems to buy it, but now Aaron's looking at him with a hint of pity and it sends Harry into a defensive mode. "Don't look at me like that. I like being alone. Some people just operate better alone."

"I know," Aaron says softly. Then, he smirks. "Is that your way of telling me you'd rather be alone right now?"

Harry considers it. Then, he shakes his head. "No. You're...cool. I like your company."

"Thanks, Harry," Aaron says with a light laugh. He's always laughing or smiling. Harry wonders what that's like.

"Do you like _my_ company?" Harry challenges, leaning forward to look him in the eye. "No lie."

"I _love_ your company, no lie," Aaron says easily. Then, more quietly, he adds, "I kind of hoped it would be more obvious, honestly."

"Why?"

"Why do I love your company or why do I want it to be obvious?"

"Both. I mean—" Harry hiccups, "like, you have a ton of friends. Cool, normal friends. I don't see why—"

"I like you, Harry," Aaron says. Harry suddenly feels sober. "I've had a crush on you ever since I saw you at the café when I'd hang around there before I even worked there. I always saw you in your little corner, either reading a book or writing in your journal. I kind of wanted tonight to be a date of sorts, really."

Aaron looks nervous. Harry doesn't know what to say, because yeah, he should've guessed. Why would someone like Aaron even put effort into talking to him if it isn't because he wants to fuck Harry? Fucking hell. It all boils down to that, doesn't it? 

Harry doesn't say anything for a while. He rests his back on the bench and tries to work through the drunken haze of his mind. He's sad, that's one thing he's sure of. He wanted this thing, whatever the hell it even is, to last with Aaron. He wanted to go to that pub to watch their band play. He wanted to spend more lunch breaks with him at the café while listening to his playlists. He wanted to know more about Aaron's tattoos.

"Oh," Harry says eventually. Maybe he's a little disappointed. If Harry lets Aaron fuck him tonight, will he stop texting Harry? He kind of liked having constant random texts from him. Will Aaron ignore him at the café the next time he goes there?

"I didn't mean to put you on the spot," Aaron says after a while, sounding apologetic. "I just wanted to let you know. There's no pressure or anything, I just—"

"No, it's okay," Harry says, forcing a smile. He doesn't know why he suddenly feels like crying, but his throat feels tight and his smile is shaky. "Um, I have a crush on you too. You're...you've been really nice to me."

Aaron gives him a sad smile. "I promise, you don't have to say that. I want to—"

"But I mean it." He doesn't. "You're—I like you too, Aaron. I mean it."

Even to his own ears, his voice sounds off. It sounds like he's begging and frantic. Harry doesn't care if he comes off as desperate, he doesn't want Aaron to stop talking to him. He's found an odd comfort in him, and Harry can't let that go. It's the first time he's felt remotely safe and comfortable with someone and he's not going to throw it away just because Aaron wants to have sex. So what. Harry does that every fucking day, why's this any different?

"Okay," Aaron says, though his smile is still sad. "I hear you. How are you feeling? Do you want more water? Or should I drive you back home?"

Translation: _so, can we fuck now?_ Harry nods. "Okay. Um. Let's go to your car."

Aaron looks a bit confused at first, but he's quick on his feet when Harry stands up. As they walk back to their parking spot, Harry ignores the heavy feeling in his gut. Aaron sets a hand on his waist to guide him since Harry apparently can't walk straight. Harry doesn't even think he drank _that_ much.

Aaron tells him a bit about his family back home on their way there, and by the time they make it to the car, Harry already knows the names of Aaron's younger sibling, Cindy. They hop into the car and Harry steels himself, tells himself that this is no different than any other day, so why the fuck is he overreacting over _sex_ _?_ He's a _whore_ for god's sake.

Meanwhile, Aaron's still talking about his family's Christmas traditions. Harry takes a deep breath. He has a moment of doubt—should he not have sex with him right away in case Aaron ignores him afterwards? He'll have to make it good, then, to make sure that Aaron will come back and keep talking to him. Right. Of course.

"...gingerbread cookies, you know?" Aaron is saying. He turns to look at Harry and Harry stomps on that voice in the back of his head telling him to get out of the car. Sure, he feels too out of it to have sex, but he'll have to concentrate hard instead. He'll find a way. Aaron leans in then. Harry's too busy psyching himself up to hear Aaron say, "Let me put your seatbelt on," because by then, Harry's already kissing him, soft and sweet at first because Aaron has gone still all of a sudden. Harry has to coax him into it, until Aaron's lips are slowly moving against his, albeit reluctantly.

Harry can feel that Aaron's not as into it as he should be, so Harry puts his palms on his chest and runs them down his torso. Harry moans quietly when Aaron starts to actually kiss back, throwing his body into the kiss as Aaron softly rests his hands on either side of his face. He's so careful and hesitant with his movements that Harry's a bit confused because maybe Harry's not doing this right.

It gets good a few minutes later. Harry can feel the heat of Aaron's body now, and can almost smell his arousal in the cramped car. Harry does that thing with his tongue that he's learned over the years which Aaron absolutely loves, based on the groan that comes out of his mouth. Aaron's grip on him is more secure now, more urgent, as he runs his hands through Harry's curls and massages his scalp. Harry takes it as his cue to hop onto his lap, resting his thighs on either side of Aaron's hips.

"Harry," Aaron pants when they pull away for a bit.

Harry nods and grinds his ass down on Aaron's hardening cock, feeling it fill up even more beneath him—

"Wait, wait," Aaron says, alarmed. "Hold on—we shouldn't—"

"We can go back to your place if you want," Harry purrs into his ear. Hopefully Aaron doesn't insist that they go to Harry's apartment because Logan would actually kill him if he ever brought someone there, especially someone who isn't even his client. 

"No, Harry—" Aaron pulls away, gently pushing at Harry's chest so they can look at each other. Harry frowns. "I just—you're drunk, Harry. We shouldn't."

Harry's beyond confused. "But I thought you wanted to…"

"I think we had a bit of a misunderstanding," Aaron says. He's collected once again as though he wasn't just about to nut a few seconds ago.

"I thought you wanted to. Here. In the car," Harry says meekly. He feels a bit stupid.

Aaron shakes his head sadly. "Harry. There was no double meaning behind that, I really was asking you if you wanted me to drive you home. I wasn't insinuating anything."

"Oh," Harry says. He looks down at Aaron's cock, still hard under his jeans. "Well. Let me finish you off, at least—"

"Harry," Aaron says breathlessly, grabbing his wrist when Harry goes to palm at his hard-on. "Love, it's okay. Can you—can you go sit back on the seat, please?"

Harry swallows and tries not to kick anything as he gets off his lap and sits on the passenger seat again. He feels like he's about to get scolded for something. He doesn't even know what he did wrong.

"Babe," Aaron says, taking his hand. Harry turns to face him, frowning. "I'm sorry if I came on too strong and it seemed like I wanted to take you to bed, like, immediately. That's—I didn't mean that. When I said I like you, I meant it. I want to take you out on dates and get to know you, you know? Old fashioned, maybe, but that's what I was referring to. If you want to make out with me or even get off with me, I'm totally cool with that too, but maybe not when you're drunk, yeah?"

Harry's a bit insulted by the tone Aaron's using—like Harry's a five-year-old who needs to be softly spoken to. 

"I don't…" Harry starts, frustrated. "I'm not a _child_. I can have sex, if that's what you're worried about. I know I look young but I'm _nineteen_."

"That's not what I'm saying," Aaron says, voice kind and understanding that it pisses Harry off even more. "You're drunk."

 _"And?"_ Harry says. Maybe it's the panic running beneath his skin that's making him overly defensive. He's worried and annoyed that he's fucked this up or that he's done something to turn Aaron off and now Aaron's making all these stupid excuses. "I'm good, okay? Even when I'm drunk, I can make it good. It's fine—"

Aaron shakes his head again, looking at him in disbelief. "That's not what I'm saying at all, Harry. What I'm saying is that I feel like I'm taking advantage of you if we're going to have sex while you're drunk. Plus, I'm not in a rush to get to that stage, either. I like you, Harry, and it's not just sex that I'm after. Especially since I can tell you're not fully comfortable, either. Again, it's not your fault—I just want to make you understand where I'm coming from."

Harry bites his lip. Right. Aaron's not like his clients. Of course he's going to care about Harry being drunk. 

"I'm sorry," Harry says quietly, unable to look at him. 

"Hey, you don't need to apologize. _I_ need to apologize because I gave off the wrong signal, alright? You did nothing wrong."

It doesn't feel like it, but Harry nods anyway. He fights the urge to say sorry again.

He feels a hand on his, and then, "We're good, right?"

Harry turns to him and Aaron's looking at him with equally worried and hopeful eyes. Harry manages a thin smile and nods.

Aaron sighs. "Good. I'm—I was scared I messed this up."

"Are you sure _I_ didn't mess this up?"

"A hundred percent. I promise."

It's enough to quell Harry's worries for now. They sit in silence for a bit until Aaron turns on the radio and pulls out of the parking lot. Harry falls asleep at one point, and he wakes up to Aaron shaking his shoulder softly. "We're here."

Sure enough, they're in front of the 7-Eleven branch that Aaron picked him up at earlier. Harry wipes at the sleepiness in his eyes before turning to Aaron who's watching him with a soft smile.

"Sorry about earlier, again."

"As I said, no need to apologize."

"Right." Harry doesn't know how to make a proper exit, so he blurts out, "You're still going to text me, right?"

"Of course I am," Aaron says as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I kind of need to discuss our date, so of course I'll text you."

Harry can't help but smile. "A date?"

"Yeah. A proper, fancy dinner date. Or maybe a movie date, if that's what you'd prefer. Anything, really."

It sinks in for Harry then that this is actually a lot worse than Aaron ditching him after getting to fuck him. Aaron's actually interested in him. He wants to _date_ him. It's so much worse that Harry wants to laugh.

"I don't—" Harry starts. He feels guilty and miserable when he says, "Is it okay if I say I'm not really, like...looking for a relationship? I do like you, I like your company and you as a person but. I don't know. I'm not in the place to be someone's boyfriend." _Probably not ever,_ goes unsaid.

Aaron doesn't look like he hates him, though, so it makes Harry breathe easier. "Of course, Harry. As I said, no pressure. I want to get to know you and I want to hang out more with you, but that doesn't mean you're obligated to be my boyfriend. I'm not rushing either, I just want to go out with you and see where it goes. If it doesn't work out in the end, I promise you won't get rid of me so easily. I'll be more than happy to be your friend."

Harry finds himself nodding before he can process what all that entails. "Okay. Thank you."

"Come here," Aaron says before he pulls him into a hug. Harry lets out a small breath, burying his face in Aaron's shoulder. "I had fun tonight. I don't know if you could tell, but everyone who met you was completely enamored by you. I'm a bit jealous, but I still count it as a win that I still get to drive you home and call you my friend while they can only admire you from a distance."

It's so unexpected and genuine that it brings fresh tears to Harry's eyes. "Shut up."

"I'm not lying," Aaron says with a laugh. "You're amazing, Harry. I can't wait to get to know you even more."

When they pull apart, Aaron wipes a single stray tear on Harry's cheek. Harry smiles at him. "Um, I'll see you around?"

"You sure will," Aaron says, grinning. "Good night, Harry. Stay safe."

Harry gets out of the car and waves goodbye as Aaron drives away. 

When he goes to bed that night, he dreams of a world where this ends happily.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry has female clients sometimes, and when he does, he counts it as a win. Not because they're "gentler" by any means, but because they generally give better tips and make sure he's fed before they let him go.

Stella is one of Harry's regulars—she's a thirty-something woman with dark skin and curly hair. When she schedules a meet-up with Harry, Harry goes to her cozy home near the train station that always smells of baked cookies. Oddly enough, the place reminds him of his grandma's house.

She doesn't have any dramatic backstory—she's not cheating on a spouse or hiring hookers to deal with their sexuality crises like most of Harry's male clients are—she's just a single mother who likes to have a bit of fun every now and then when her kids are away.

It's relatively easy and Harry likes the smell of her bed sheets. Stella has this motherly aura around her—which would be weird considering the nature of their relationship, but Harry likes how she makes him a cup of tea and offers him her very own baked goods before he leaves. Usually, Harry would decline and would be on his way as soon as he put his clothes back on, but tonight, Harry's stomach grumbles slightly at the mention of food and his hands ache for the warmth of a tea cup.

"C'mon, Harry. It's cold out there," Stella tells him with a laugh when she hears his pitiful stomach. She leads him to the dining table and busies herself in the kitchen while Harry sits down and finds himself staring at the picture frames littered atop the festively-decorated fireplace. Stella has two kids, apparently. They look only a few years younger than Harry, both smiling wide.

"That's Aimee and Adam. They're sweet kids, but they're always away. Aimee's a bit of a genius, so she's going to enroll at a university earlier than usual," Stella says, placing a steaming mug of tea and a plate of biscuits and toast in front of Harry.

"Thank you," Harry says quietly, immediately latching onto the warm tea and letting it soothe his throat. "They look just like you."

"Thankfully so. Their biological father is ugly inside and out, I wouldn't want them to take after him," Stella laughs.

Harry chuckles. It should be weird, discussing his client's family, but frankly, Harry's had far weirder encounters and this one is as innocent as it gets.

"I may despise that man, but they're still my children's father, so I try to remind them to be nothing but respectful towards him," Stella says.

"Even if he doesn't deserve it?" Harry finds himself asking.

Stella sips from her cup, looking contemplative. "I guess so. Because of how 'blood is thicker than water' and all that."

Harry wonders if there's some kind of universal rule that compels all fathers to be absolute shitheads. Harry hasn't met one person who hasn't called their own father every insult in the book, himself being one of them.

The mere thought of his father almost ruins his appetite. He finishes his tea and eats about a third of the biscuits Stella gave him before standing up and telling her that he'd better be on his way. Stella walks him to the door, dropping a kiss on his cheek as he steps out onto the doorstep.

"Take care out there, sweetie," Stella tells him.

Harry manages a smile before walking away, stuffing his hands in his coat pocket and making his way to his next client for the night.

×××

When he finally makes it back to Logan's apartment with a wad of carefully-counted cash in his coat pocket, he immediately finds Logan on the living room couch watching TV. Harry places the pastries he bought from the bakery down the street on the kitchen counter, wondering what kind of mood Logan is in when Logan's voice snaps him from his thoughts.

"Come here," he says.

Harry removes his coat and sits down next to him. Logan looks at him impassively, and for a split second, Harry's sure that he's been found out. Perhaps Logan got word that Harry called Gemma. Perhaps Logan was awake after all when Harry was sneaking around and opening his drawer. Fuck, maybe Logan found out he went to a _party—_

Logan holds out his hand, palm up. It takes Harry a few seconds to recognize what that means and immediately pulls out his earnings for the night and hands it over. He watches him while he counts the money and puts it in his pocket. Harry waits to be dismissed, but it doesn't come.

"We've hit a bit of a rough patch lately, but you've learned your lesson, right?" Logan says.

Harry nods immediately. "Yes. I'm—I'm sorry for being difficult before."

"You've been good. Right?"

"Yes."

"Harry," Logan says slowly, leaning back on the couch and resting his arms along the backrest. He looks at Harry calculatingly. "I've been forgiving and merciful towards you, have I not?"

"You have," Harry says breathlessly. He feels like crying all of a sudden, as if Logan is about to drop some big news on him that he's not ready for. "I owe you so much. If it weren't for you—I don't know where I'd be."

Logan pulls out a cigarette from his pocket and puts it between his lips, lighting it up. He takes a deep inhale, then blows out the smoke. Harry watches it as it swirls in the air.

"Good. My men at the whorehouse aren't as kind as me, Harry. You do one wrong thing and it's over. Me, on the other hand, I give you chances. I give you time to prove yourself to me, to be honest. All of that in exchange for a comfortable home, food, and safety. Does that seem like a good deal to you, Harry?"

He nods nervously. "Yes, Logan."

"For a whore, you're lucky. You could be in a much terrible place. Other pimps could be shooting heroin up your arm every day to keep you dependent on them. Your clients will fuck you like a ragdoll while you're high. That's your cycle, again and again until you die from overdosing or starvation—whichever comes first."

Harry's throat is tight. He knows he's lucky, he knows how it is in the whorehouse—locked up in a single room, possibly even chained to the wall, lying in bed day and night, just waiting for it all to end. With a shaky voice, he days, "I know. I'm so thankful for everything you've done for me."

Logan looks him straight in the eye, eyes hard, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees while Harry shrinks in on himself. "Are you? I don't feel like it."

"I am," Harry insists, reaching out with a shaky hand to rest on Logan's knee. Moments like these are more common than one would think. Logan gets like this sometimes—he'd remind Harry of their roles and guilt him for seeming ungrateful. If Harry plays along, does the right things, and says the right words, he doesn't have to worry about anything.

"Show me," Logan says gruffly, already palming at his cock. "Show me just how grateful you are."

Harry nods and falls to his knees on the floor between Logan's open thighs. He undoes the buttons of his jeans and pulls it down along with his boxers, revealing his half-hard dick. Logan groans and throws his head back when Harry starts fisting him and licking at the head.

"Yeah, like that," Logan pants, pulling roughly at Harry's hair. Harry takes him in his mouth then, suckling at the head for a while until he can feel Logan getting impatient, and then he's taking him in deeper, eyes watering when he hits the back of Harry's throat.

"Fuck." Logan holds his face and fucks into his mouth. Harry relaxes his throat as best as he can, eyes slipping shut as he concentrates hard on making this good for Logan. Harry crosses his hands behind his back the way he knows Logan likes, letting the older man use him however he likes.

Just when Harry feels like Logan's about to come, Logan pulls him off. Harry wetly pants for a few seconds until he realizes that Logan's manhandling him so that he's bent over the coffee table. Harry lies there with his cheek pressed against the cold wood while Logan pulls his pants off, his hands greedy and impatient.

Harry expects him to slide right in, but to his surprise, Logan fingers him slow and sure for what feels like hours. It comes to the point where Harry starts mewling and pressing his ass back to meet his fingers because it just feels _good_. Sex has not been enjoyable to him for a long time, and during those rare times when he does feel pleasure, he can't find it in himself to feel guilty or disgusted over it. Maybe he will, later, when he's alone in the bathroom scrubbing off dried cum from his skin, but right now, Harry allows himself to moan and buck his hips desperately.

"You like that, huh?"

"Yes," Harry breathes because he knows Logan loves it when he's responsive.

"I'm gonna fuck you now. You want that too, huh? Want me to fuck you till you come?" Logan says, his warm breath hitting the back of Harry's neck.

Harry bites his lip when Logan hits his spot with his fingers, eyes closing. "Mhm—yes, yes please." 

Logan's hard length presses into him. Harry expects hard thrusts, but once again, Logan changes it up and fucks him deep and slow. He rolls his hips into him, their hot skin meeting as Logan grips his hips securely. Harry arches his back and lets out a broken moan when Logan hits his prostate just right, his hands scrambling across the table to grip the edges.

"That feel good?" Logan pants behind him, pressing kisses along his back. "You like that?"

"Feels good," Harry says, his mind feeling like it's made of mush. Even through the haze of his brain, he realizes that Logan never once asked him how he feels during sex until now.

"Good. Do you like it like this? Or hard and rough?"

Harry can barely think as Logan pounds into him, so he just blurts out, "Whatever—mhmm—whatever you like,"

"But I'm asking _you,_ " Logan makes a point of thrusting hard, making Harry gasp as he slides up the table.

"Er—slow, I think. Slow," Harry breathes out.

Logan fucks him slow and nice. It doesn't feel like Logan's just chasing his own climax. As ridiculous as it may sound, it feels like he wants to make it good for Harry. Harry doesn't know what that means, but he feels good right now, and when he comes he almost cries.

"Shh, that's it, you were so good," Logan tells him. He picks Harry up from where he's sprawled on the coffee table and sets him down on the couch on his back. Then, he leans in to lick into Harry's mouth. Harry's head is a bit cloudy so he kisses back as best as he can and tries to meet Logan's enthusiasm. Eventually, the kiss slows down and Logan sucks on his bottom lip. It reminds Harry of first kisses, for some reason.

"Good boy," Logan says, kissing him again. Harry is aware that Logan has a soft side—he's seen it peek out a couple times, but never as full-fledged like this. Even the way Logan holds his face and massages soothing circles into his hip feels different, somehow. It's soft and careful. Harry falls asleep on the couch with Logan still pressing kisses to his skin and whispering soft things into his ear. Harry doesn't know what this all means, but he knows it won't last for long.

The mystery continues when Logan takes him to the mall a few days later.

Harry was planning to go to the café, already having sent Aaron a few texts saying he'll be there to be there with him during his lunch break, when Logan tells him to get dressed and meet him in the car. Logan's warm and smiley on the drive, keeping a hand on Harry's thigh. When they arrive at the mall, Logan buys him new clothes and shoes. Harry's so taken aback that he can only nod along to the clothes Logan picks out for him. They end up with four bags of brand new clothes and shoes by the end of the day. 

Logan takes him to eat at one of those burger houses, and when they walk to the car towards the later half of the day, Logan takes his hand and intertwines their fingers. Even while he drives, Logan keeps their hands connected. That night, Logan kisses him so tenderly that Harry feels something coil up inside him—it's not the fluttering warmth and butterflies someone should feel when they're being kissed like this. Instead, he's gripped by fear and dread, because the tighter Logan holds him, the lesser the possibility he'll ever go free.

×××

On Christmas day, Harry wakes up to an empty bed. It's eerily quiet inside the apartment as Harry walks out the bedroom and makes himself breakfast. He has a long day ahead of him, because contrary to popular belief, not everyone spends Christmas with their families. Harry still has clients expecting him at their doorstep. He takes a hot shower and wears one of the new jeans Logan got him—it's dark and tight around his thighs and ass, accentuating his curves. He picks a silk shirt and leaves the few buttons open, then stands in front of the mirror to fix his hair.

He starts when his phone rings. Instinctively, he runs to get it and picks up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Harry." It's Aaron. "Merry Christmas!"

Harry smiles to himself. "Merry Christmas, Aaron."

"You got plans for today?"

 _Does getting fucked under a Christmas tree by a client count?_ "Hmm, just a few last minute errands to run. Nothing major."

"Well, in case you have some extra time, feel free to visit us at the café. You can get a discount because it's the holidays," Aaron says. "And maybe because I tend to give away free cupcakes to people. Especially if they're cute."

Harry can almost imagine his exaggerated wink. Harry laughs quietly. "I can't miss that."

"You sure as hell can't," Aaron says. Then, in a softer tone, he says, "Plus, I kind of wanted to give you something."

Harry goes still as he goes to reach for his boots. "Oh?"

"Yeah." He sounds shy. "It's not anything grand—I just like to give gifts during holidays."

"And you got one for me?"

Aaron scoffs. "Of course, silly. Why wouldn't I?"

Because we just met. Because I'm tricking you. Because I'm a whore.

"Um—" Harry's throat feels tight all of a sudden. "That's very sweet of you. Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Aaron says easily. "Don't act so surprised. I told you that I was going to woo you, didn't I?"

Harry laughs. For a moment he forgets about who he is and allows the warmth to spread through him, tinting his cheeks pink. "I've got a bad memory. Sorry."

"You're pretty, that immediately makes up for it."

Harry lets out another unexpected laugh. This time, he slaps his palm on his mouth and looks around as though Logan would emerge from the shadows with a disapproving frown. Instead, he's met with silence, so he lets out a breath. "I'm blushing here, take it easy on the compliments will you?"

"I've got no filter, so you're gonna have to deal with it," Aaron says. Harry can hear the smile in his voice.

Later, Harry will wonder what the hell he's doing and where this will all lead him. He'll want to slap himself from how irresponsible and reckless he's acting. But for now, he clutches the phone tighter in his hand and smiles wide, embracing the giddy feeling in his stomach. "I guess I'll have to."

He thinks about it throughout the rest of the day, like a dog anticipating its reward. He floats, like he usually does, and gets through the rough hands and liquor-stained breaths by detaching himself from the physicality of it all and watching from a distance, like a ghost hovering in the air.

Harry isn't thinking when he goes straight to the café after his last client shoves money into his shaky hands and practically throws him out of the house. He's cold and hungry, and the Christmas songs playing in the speakers he walks past reminds him of the old CD Gemma used to play that had all the holiday songs in it. Mom would be cooking in the kitchen while Dad smoked on the patio. He can still smell their old home, like a stranger's perfume that clung to his clothes when they brushed arms once in the street. It makes tears burn in the corner of his eyes.

He doesn't realize the time until he arrives at the café and it's practically empty, save for that one old couple in the farthest corner. The sky is still dark, Harry notes, so it shouldn't be that late. But even then, he can already see the lighter tints of blue overhead, mere moments away from taking over.

When he walks to the counter, a different barista greets him. Harry blinks, then asks, "Um, what time is it?"

"Around 3 AM. Don't worry, we're open 24 hours," the girl tells him.

Harry sighs. Aaron would've gone home already. "Thanks. Can I get one black coffee, please?"

Once his order is ready, Harry takes a seat at one of the tables and sips his drink. He hopes that the hot coffee would burn his tongue and wake him up a bit, but the feeling only lasts for a while before he goes numb again. Harry's just thinking about texting an apology to Aaron when he hears the sound of the chair across him scraping the floor. He looks up and finds Aaron grinning at him.

"I was thinking you didn't want my gift after all," Aaron says teasingly. He's out of his barista uniform and is simply wearing a plain shirt and washed jeans. 

"Sorry, I didn't realize how late it was. I thought you would have gone home by now," Harry says quietly.

"I stay here a _lot_. There's a storage room upstairs, but Tommy turned it into a sort of bedroom slash living room place? There's also a bathroom and everything."

"And you...waited for me? There?" Harry asks unsurely.

"Of course. Here," Aaron says, pulling something out of a paper bag. It's a box wrapped in a Christmas wrapper and a ribbon. Aaron looks a bit nervous as he sets it down on the table. "Merry Christmas!"

Harry can't help the giddy laugh that escapes his lips. Seeing Aaron's smiling face and his stupid present is enough to make happy tears burn in his eyes all of a sudden. He hides it when he ducks his head and starts unwrapping the gift.

"It's not much," Aaron says as Harry tears the wrapper, "I mean, it's just something I saw while I was shopping, and I don't know, I thought you'd like it."

Harry finally opens the box. He gasps ever so slightly, just the smallest hitch of his breath. He takes the cassette player in his hands, turning it around and inspecting it up close. It's a cute size, just about the size of his palm.

"It's portable, so. You can play music out loud and also use earbuds if you'd prefer," Aaron says. "Check the box again, there's more."

Harry's eyes snap up to him in surprise before looking back into the box and sure enough—there are cassette tapes inside. Harry's vaguely familiar with a few of them, most of them from that time Aaron let him listen to his playlist on his phone. Some are recent, some are old—Harry glimpses a Fleetwood Mac, Pink Floyd, and Queen cassette tapes among them and he almost cries right there in the spot.

His parents loved music. Harry remembers waking up in the morning to the aroma of bacon and coffee. He'd crawl out of bed and pad to the living room where Dad was crouched in front of the CD player, adjusting the volume of some Bryan Adams song and the like. Harry had the words memorized then—even now, though he barely ever listened to music anymore—and Mom and Dad would always love it when he sang along with the songs. Gemma would butt in and try to steal the spotlight, and when she succeeded in doing so, Harry would be in a sulk during breakfast. It was all so simple back then—it scares Harry how much he'd give to get it back.

"This is—" Harry starts, slightly choked up. He laughs it off and gives Aaron the biggest smile he could muster. "I love it. This is so thoughtful—thank you."

Aaron's shoulders relax. "You're welcome. I'm right again, aren't I? I knew you'd like it."

"Yeah," Harry says with a laugh, hastily wiping at his eyes where tears are starting to build. "Fuck, I'm sorry. I'm not dramatic, I promise. It's just—I love it. I love it a lot."

"Hey," Aaron says softly, his hands closing around Harry's wrists and pulling them away from his face. "Don't apologize. I'm happy you liked it. And no, you're not being dramatic."

Just then, Harry gasps. "Wait—fuck, I didn't get you anything. I was supposed to buy something on my way here but I forgot and—"

"Harry, it's okay." Aaron laughs. "I didn't get you a gift because I was hoping for something in return. I just wanted to. We're good, yeah? I don't care for gifts."

Harry knows he's genuine, can see it in his face and hear it in his voice but still, anxiety claws at his chest. He's already thinking about things like what if this is starting to annoy Aaron, or what if he's just being kind, or maybe he's going to get sick of Harry and Harry won't have an escape anymore. Harry never realizes just how much he values Aaron's time and company until he thinks about Aaron possibly never talking to him again.

Harry bites back the urge to suggest something sexual which is the first thing that comes to his mind. He knows now that Aaron doesn't want that, he's made it clear that night when Harry jumped him in his own car. So, Harry takes a deep breath and smiles apologetically. "I'll get you something next time, promise."

"No pressure," Aaron says, squeezing his hand. "As a matter of fact, I have an idea."

"I'm listening."

"How about you come out to dinner with me. It'll be the best Christmas gift, you don't even have to worry about fancy wrappers and ribbons."

Harry laughs, a blush making its way up his cheeks. When Aaron continues to watch him with an open, expectant look, Harry stumbles over his words, "Oh—um. Oh. You're serious?"

"Very much so," Aaron says with a lopsided smile. "I meant what I told you when I drove you back after Richard's party. I really do want to get to know you, whether we end up as friends or more. Is that okay, Harry?"

This is the part where Harry should put an end to this little charade. He should tell Aaron he's not interested and never speak with him again. There's no doubt that if Aaron finds out that Harry's been lying to him all this time, he won't think twice before looking at him with disgust and dropping him for good. Harry _is_ guilty—heck, he's not the fucking devil. Harry knows that Aaron has a thing for the cute, straight-A's student Harry who goes to Holton University and takes up Journalism. The Harry Aaron knows is a normal nineteen-year-old who's got his shit figured out and has a future for himself, not the Harry who bends over for men thrice his age with crumpled cash in their grubby hands. Not the Harry whose life is so fucked that he _pretends_ to be someone he's not just to feel something other than dread and misery.

Saying no and walking out of here once and for all is the right thing to do, no matter where he looks at it from.

But then Harry looks down at the cassette tapes scattered on the table, at Aaron's hopeful, genuine smile, at his warm, big hand covering Harry's, making him feel cared for like he hasn't felt in a long time—and Harry wants to say yes. He wants to have dinner with this man, wants to watch his stupid band play at a pub in a few days, wants to listen to music sharing a single pair of earbuds. He shouldn't, but Harry _wants_ to.

So he does. Aaron's blinding smile makes it worth it—at least for now.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry's been to exactly three dates in the past. 

He was twelve when he asked a pretty girl named Samantha out to the movies. They ate popcorn and cotton candy. Harry doesn't remember the movie they watched, but he remembers her perfume being too sweet for his liking. The next one was when he was fourteen—he went out with a friend called Gian. It wasn't technically a date, but that was the night he had his first kiss. It was also the night he discovered that he liked boys. The third one was when he was sixteen—a few weeks before he was taken by Logan and his men. Harry doesn't remember the date at all aside from the feeling of regret deep in his stomach where he knew he should've made the most out of it because everything else that followed was literal hell.

Now, at nineteen, Harry lets out a sigh of relief when he wakes up and Logan still hasn't returned to the apartment. Yesterday, Harry worked his ass off to make more money than usual so that today he'd be free by the time Aaron picks him up. He only needs to meet a couple regular clients and probably give a few handjobs or blowjobs behind clubs to reach his quota. So, Harry gets up early and lets random men fuck him just so he can go back to his pimp's apartment to get dressed for his date with a university student.

It's 6 PM and Aaron's supposed to pick him up from 7-Eleven down the block in a few minutes. Harry spent way too much time showering—he scrubbed his skin so hard that it's red and raw now, but he hopes it'll go away in a bit. Aaron didn't tell him where they'll be going, so Harry chooses to wear something neutral—dark fitted slacks, black sneakers, and a silk button-up with small detailed embroideries. He ignores the fact that Logan bought him these clothes not even a week ago. 

Harry walks out into the night, cheeks pink from the cold. When he gets to the convenience store, Aaron's car is already parked at the side. Harry picks up his speed, but as soon as he catches Aaron's winning smile through the car window, he trips over his own feet and nearly face-plants on the ground. 

"Shut up," Harry mumbles, barely holding in a smile of his own when he gets into the passenger seat, Aaron's laughter loud inside the car.

"Good evening to you too, lovely," Aaron says, grinning. His eyes look like they're sparkling in the dark, and the way he's looking at Harry makes him squirm in his seat.

"Right. Sorry. Good evening," Harry says.

"You look beautiful," Aaron tells him softly. Aaron looks beautiful too—he's wearing a blue button-up shirt and jeans, his hair done up into a quiff. Harry can smell his cologne—it's the same cologne from that night when they went to Richard's party, and Harry feels oddly comforted by that.

"You too," Harry says, showing off a dimpled smile.

Aaron's smile never leaves his face as he backs out of their driving spot and starts to drive. When he rests a hand on Harry's thigh, it feels so different from when Logan does it—it doesn't feel possessive or threatening. Instead, his hand is warm and comforting, keeping him grounded to keep him from floating away for good.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks curiously after a while. 

"It's a surprise," Aaron says, grinning. "You'll like it, I promise. I've never failed you with my supernatural ability to read people, have I?"

Harry bites back a bitter laugh. "Never."

"Then trust me. It'll be fun."

As it turns out, Aaron got them tickets to a drive-in theater. Harry doesn't even care what film they're going to be watching—he's too excited by simply being here because he's never been to one.

They find a spot a good distance away from the large screen before getting out of the car to buy something to eat from the booths littered all over the area. As they walk, Aaron takes his hand and Harry can't help but smile.

They buy corn dogs, milkshakes, and fries before returning to Aaron's car and settling into the backseat so they're pressed together from shoulders to knees. Harry's stomach grumbles not even a minute later, making his face heat up while Aaron laughs fondly.

"Here babe, let's eat," Aaron says, handing him his food.

The movie starts playing a few minutes later—it's a rom-com and Harry finds that he doesn't mind it. Aaron wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him in even closer. After a split-second of hesitation, Harry rests his head on his shoulder and sighs contentedly.

"I didn't let myself watch rom-coms or chick flicks until I was, like, nineteen or something. I would always watch action or war movies because I thought it made me cool," Aaron says out of the blue.

"When did you discover your love for rom-coms, then?"

Aaron hesitates, and then says, "I'll be honest with you, I started watching them but I hate every single one of them. I just thought that a rom-com movie would set the right vibe for a date, you know? So I have an excuse to throw an arm around you and cuddle."

Harry laughs, surprised. "Shouldn't you have chosen a horror movie, if that's the case?"

Aaron sighs. "Babe, I tried. They're not showing any horror movies, so this was my second choice."

Harry hums thoughtfully. "I don't mind. I love these movies." Hearing himself say it is quite odd. He hasn't even let himself think of things as trivial as movies in a long time that he's almost forgotten. "We used to have this tradition every Christmas. We watched Love Actually every year. For some reason, it never got old."

"You rewatched it this Christmas too?"

Harry bites his lip. "No. I didn't go home to my family this year, so. Tradition broken, I guess?"

Aaron runs his hand up and down Harry's arm. "Tonight isn't too late, don't you think? We may not be watching Love Actually, but we're still watching a rom-com, so it must count for something, right?"

Harry huffs out a laugh. "Right."

Harry hasn't felt this relaxed in a while. It's unlike anything he's ever experienced in the backseat of a car. Aaron's scent and warmth is comforting, not suffocating. He touches Harry like he _matters_ and looks at him like he's worth something. Harry shuts off the logical side of his brain telling him that this won't last, that no matter how he twists this, the ending of whatever's going on between them will be the same—unhappy; tragic. But for now, Harry's okay with this. It's impermanent and absolutely reckless of him, but he wants this. He wants the temporary comfort and care. He wants to _feel_ every once in a while.

Aaron starts playing with his hair and Harry nearly purrs in appreciation. His touch is so gentle and soft that Harry holds back a wave of unexpected tears.

 _This is okay_ , Harry tells himself as he closes his eyes for a moment. _I can let myself have this. Just this once._

×××

Harry wakes to someone softly shaking his shoulder. Harry rubs his eyes with his fist and blinks, half-expecting to see Logan looming over him, which is why he flinches in surprise when it's Aaron he sees.

"Shit," Harry murmurs, looking around. They're still at the drive-in theater, but the large screen is now rolling credits and some cars have already left the lot. Harry's face burns with embarrassment as he looks back at Aaron.

Harry opens his mouth to apologize but Aaron cuts him off. "Before you apologize, let me just say that your snores are absolutely adorable."

Harry groans and covers his face with his hands. Aaron laughs and pulls him into a hug. "I'm just teasing, babe. But I didn't lie."

Harry wants to laugh and cry at the same time, so he buries his face in Aaron's chest and sighs. "Fuck. I didn't mean to fall asleep—I'm so sorry."

"I don't mind, I promise. You didn't miss anything good—the movie's as cliche as they come."

Harry forces out a laugh as they pull apart. "I promise I'm usually better at dates than this. I just—I had to work overtime yesterday, so. Sorry."

It's not a lie, of course. But it makes Harry feel even worse, thinking about how he prepared for this night just to fuck it up by falling asleep. He's mortified, but at least Aaron seems to genuinely not mind, because he's still looking at Harry like he's the best person he's ever met.

"Understandable," Aaron says. Curiously, he adds, "Where do you work, by the way?"

There's a second of panic, and then Harry blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "A small bookshop. I help out with the boxes and deliveries and stuff."

"Hmm. Well, if you ever want a bit of change of scenery, let me know because there might be an opening at Caffeinated. You don't have to work a minute past your shift. Plus, I'd love to have you around," Aaron says, tucking a loose curl behind his ear.

"That's—um. I'll think about it. Thank you," Harry says, smiling.

They spend the next hour or so talking and getting to know each other. Aaron takes them to a drive through and buys another round of junk food for them while telling him about his high school "fame years" just because he played instruments. He tells Harry about how his band got formed and how they've been posting cover videos on YouTube for a while now to gain an audience. Harry asks to see some of the videos and Aaron lets him watch it on his phone. They sound amazing, and Harry tells him this again and again until Aaron's clearly flustered but pleased from the compliments.

"That's why you have to see us live on Saturday," Aaron says when they finish the fifth video—it's a cover of an old Paramore song.

Harry wants to. He wants to, so bad that it actually scares him. He fights the urge to make a promise that he'll be there and says, "I'll have to see if I'm free. I just—there's some family stuff I've been a bit busy with lately. But I really do want to see you, I really do."

"Let me know, yeah? I'll pick you up and it can be our date number two," Aaron says, flashing him a smile before looking back at the road.

Harry's heart jumps. "Yeah. Date number two."

He doesn't realize that they're already at the 7-Eleven branch a few blocks away from Logan's apartment until a few moments later. 

"I had fun," Aaron says.

Harry laughs. "I fell asleep while watching the movie."

"It was good for my ego because it made me think I'm a good cuddler," Aaron says without missing a beat.

"You are."

"See? I'm wooing you just fine."

Harry shakes his head to himself, smiling down at his lap. He thought he'd feel worse than he does now after falling asleep earlier and barely contributing to the conversation, but Aaron doesn't make him feel that way. Harry doesn't feel pressured to do anything or act a certain way—he just lets Harry be, as though it's enough. It's crazy to think about and so unfamiliar but so welcomed. Harry hasn't let himself just _be_ in so long. There are always things to worry about and overthink, but when he's with Aaron, he feels the closest to normal as possible.

"Thank you," Harry tells him with all the sincerity he can muster. "I know I don't say much and it might not seem like it, but I really appreciate you. Tonight was—" Harry hesitates for a bit, worried he's being too open, but one look at Aaron's face makes him continue, "I've been having a rough time. And tonight you made me forget about it. I felt comfortable and...safe. And just—content. I haven't felt that in a while and I know this sounds like I'm talking nonsense but it's true. So—thank you. So much."

There's a bit of sympathy in Aaron's eyes, but mostly, he just looks happy. His eyes crinkle at the corner as he takes Harry's hand and kisses the back of his palm without breaking eye contact. It's a mere brush of lips against his skin, but it sets Harry's entire body on fire. He's never been touched like this before.

"Thank you for telling me that," Aaron says softly. "You make me really happy. Hanging out with you and just talking to you feels so natural, you know? It feels like I've known you for a lifetime."

It's a cheesy line, but it makes Harry tighten his hand in Aaron's hold. Harry can't explain it either, but being with Aaron just feels so easy and light. "Me too."

Harry's phone rings in his pocket and he flinches. He stutters out an apology to Aaron as he fumbles to get it out from his pocket. He catches the time on the screen—it's almost 2 AM—and picks up immediately, barely registering the fact that it's Logan calling him.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Logan's voice is gruff. Harry can almost imagine his annoyed face and it makes his heart beat faster.

"Um, still out," Harry says. He's aware of Aaron next to him who's obviously trying to give him some form of privacy by going on his phone as well. Logan and Aaron overlapping makes Harry's head spin. 

There's a beat of silence, and then, "Get me a pack of beer and some snacks on your way back."

"Okay, yeah. I will."

Logan hangs up without another word. Harry lets out a small, shaky breath.

"Is everything alright?"

Harry startles at the sound of Aaron's voice. He laughs it off and says, "Sorry. Um, yeah. Just my roommate asking me to buy something."

Aaron eyebrows are still furrowed, and there's a worried look in his eyes as he takes Harry's hand once again and—oh. Harry didn't realize he was shaking. 

"Don't know where that came from," Harry mumbles, looking down at his own hands. It's not a lie—he has random moments of what feels like the beginning of panic attacks like this before. It'll go away in a bit. "Don't worry, it happens."

"You can tell me anything, alright?" Aaron suddenly says, tightening his hand around Harry's. "I'm always open to listen."

Fuck. Is Harry being too weird? Is Aaron already suspecting something? Harry only manages a nod and avoids looking at him. Harry unbuckles his seatbelt and curses himself in his head when his hand still shakes as he opens the door.

Before getting out of the car, he turns to Aaron and forces a smile. He hopes he hasn't ruined the night entirely. "Thanks again. I'll, um, I'll text you and let you know about Saturday."

Aaron smiles easily. "I'll be waiting for your text, then."

Harry hesitates for a bit, and before it gets too awkward, he leans in and kisses Aaron on the lips. It's quick and innocent. When Harry pulls away, Aaron's eyes look brighter.

"I'll see you," Harry says again once he's outside the car. 

"Bye, Harry. Have a good night," Aaron says, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry slams the door closed and stands on the sidewalk, waving goodbye as Aaron drives away. Once he's sure Aaron can no longer see him, he starts walking toward the nearest liquor store to buy Logan what he needs. He doesn't realize that he has a small smile on his face until he passes his reflection along the way.

The smile remains as he thinks of the brush of Aaron's lips against his knuckles and feels a kind of warmth he's never felt before.

×××

The following days, Harry wakes up to good morning texts from Aaron which never fail to bring a smile onto his face. He responds with an enthusiastic "good morning!!" and "how are u today?" before deleting the conversation entirely before he forgets. This morning, Harry wakes up with Logan's arm draped over his waist, the older man's breath hitting the back of his neck. He feels his phone vibrate with a text message from where it's sitting on the bedside table and Harry immediately knows it's Aaron.

Their band will be playing live at a pub tonight, and Harry knows how bad Aaron wants him to be there. Harry can only hope that Aaron knows how bad _Harry_ wants to go too, but the reminder of his fucked-up life quite literally has a secure grasp on him as Logan tightens his arm around his waist ever so slightly, and Harry doesn't want to make promises he can't keep.

Last night, when Harry arrived at the apartment, Logan was already waiting for him. Harry gave him the beer and snacks before taking a warm shower. When he went to bed, Logan immediately followed and fucked him despite Harry's aching muscles and already sore body. It was nothing out of the ordinary, of course, but going out on a date with Aaron merely hours before and getting used to his soft words and touches just to be roughed up and marked by Logan as soon as he leaves Aaron's car makes something ugly twist in his stomach. Harry knows he's a whore—there's no denying that, but it still makes him feel even dirtier than before. Suddenly, hours of scrubbing and showering doesn't do the trick anymore, because perhaps the dirtiness is all the way inside him, soaked into his bones.

Still, Harry craves that feeling of lightness and innocent giddiness from talking to Aaron, so as gently as he can, he removes Logan's arm from his body and takes his phone. He locks himself in the bathroom and opens Aaron's message.

_Good morning, Lovely ;) Tonight is the night! The band is excited and we have friends from uni coming out to watch us as well. Let me know if you're free and I'll drive you there._

It's only eight in the morning and Harry can feel Aaron's nervous excitement through the screen of his flip phone. Harry bites his nail and thinks about what he should say. The band won't play until later tonight, so Harry has time to meet his clients and find customers at bars to meet his quota, but what about Logan? Harry's not sure if he's going to leave to run errands again or if Logan might be waiting for him in the early hours of the morning when Harry usually returns to the apartment. 

It's a risk. It always is, with Aaron. The mere fact that he's still texting Aaron when Harry promised himself that he won't let it last this long is the biggest risk he's taken ever since he tried going to the police for help roughly two years ago—one that he regrets ever doing up to this day. Alas, Harry's logic doesn't work well when it has anything to do with Aaron, because now that Harry got a taste of warmth and comfort and softness, he's not sure he's ready to ever let it go.

_morning! i think i can make it. i might have to leave early, though. i have work and i need to get some sleep :)_

Harry will just have to make it work. If Aaron can't drive him back to Logan's before sunrise, Harry can just get a cab. He'll bring extra cash from his customer's tips and stuff it somewhere in his shoes so Logan doesn't suspect anything if he finds it.

Aaron replies: _Sure thing! I'm really happy because all of this is just a ploy so I can seduce you with my drummer biceps_

Harry muffles a laugh in his palm, then a new message appears—no, a picture. It's Aaron in a black tank top. He looks like he's just woken up, his hair a mess and his face half-buried in his pillow as he smiles widely and exaggeratedly at the camera.

 _That's how happy I am!!_ Aaron sends after the photo.

Harry feels that giddiness in his stomach again as he types out, _i'm very excited too. can't wait :D_

Harry jumps and nearly drops his phone when he hears a loud knock on the door. "What's taking you so long in there?" It's Logan, of course, his voice deep and gruff with sleep.

"Sorry, almost done," Harry rushes out, his heart still thumping against his chest. He puts his phone in his pocket and splashes water onto his face. He flushes the toilet for extra measure before opening the door. Harry looks down at his feet as he walks past Logan and toward the kitchen.

Harry feels his phone vibrate in his pocket, and Logan must've noticed too, because he narrows his eyes at Harry from where he's standing with half his body in the bathroom. "Why is your phone going off?"

Harry feels his heart skip a bit and desperately hopes his face isn't giving him away. He sits down on the stool at the kitchen counter, feigning confusion as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. It's Aaron, obviously, but Harry doesn't get to read what he said because he immediately deletes it.

"Wrong number," Harry says with a small shrug. He hopes to god that Logan didn't notice the slight tremor in his voice or his slightly trembling hand as he sets the phone down on the table.

When he looks back up, Logan looks annoyed but clearly doesn't think it's worth a fight when he just sighs and walks back into the bathroom. Once the door closes, Harry almost cries with relief.

 _This is the last time_ , Harry promises himself. He can't risk getting caught like this. He'll have to block Aaron's number eventually so he stops receiving texts from him. The thought itself is enough to make tears spring to Harry's eyes, but it's still so much better than Logan finding out about what he's been doing and finding out about Aaron specifically. Harry's heart pounds in his chest because he'll never forgive himself if he fucks up someone's life, especially Aaron who did nothing wrong.

So, he takes a deep breath and gets ready for the day. He repeats it in his head that this is the last time he'll talk to Aaron. It leaves a heavy feeling in his chest, but he shoves all those aside as he sucks off strangers in the back alleys and spreads himself for cheating husbands, accepting money from grubby hands as fast as he can just so he could see Aaron and enjoy his company one final time.

Just one more time.

×××

Harry reaches his quota just in time to prepare for Aaron who's going to pick him up. Harry's head is spinning slightly from that douchebag who got a bit too rough with him and slammed his head into the car window while they were fucking. What an absolute dickhead. The guy made up for it by giving him a tip, so Harry decided not to make a fuss and just get over it.

It doesn't mean that Harry isn't having a hard time seeing straight, though. He's walking down the sidewalk and he sees double the amount of people he's walking past. Did he really hit his head that hard? Maybe it's from starvation, too, because he doesn't remember eating anything save for that single slice of bread before he left the apartment. Maybe he's dehydrated as well.

Harry's carrying a small duffle bag with a change of clothes so he doesn't have to return to Logan's apartment just in case the older man is there and finds it odd that he's returning to the apartment earlier than usual to change clothes. Harry wishes he could shower and scrub off the dried come he can feel between his thighs, but he has to make do with the leaky sink in a random store's public bathroom.

Harry locks himself in a bathroom stall and changes into a tight pair of jeans and a white, short-sleeved silk top. He stuffs his dirty clothes into his duffle bag and steps out to wash his face in the sink. While he's drying his hands on tissue paper, he feels his phone ring with a call.

Without looking, he picks up and says, "Hey, sorry. Am I late? I'm ready to go."

There's nothing but silence for a few seconds, so Harry has to pull his phone away to look at the caller ID. The color drains from his face when he sees the name Logan.

"Um—sorry, sorry," Harry stutters, pressing his phone to his ear again, "I thought you were one of my clients. He was going to pick me up. Sorry."

Logan's voice doesn't give anything away when he says, "Didn't I tell you to give them _my_ number? Why are you giving out your number to randoms?"

Harry swallows. "He's not a regular. I found him at a club and he said he wanted to meet me somewhere else because he has to go somewhere else first. I wasn't thinking—I shouldn't have given him my number. I'm—I'm sorry."

He hears Logan sigh tiredly. "You know better than this, Harry."

"I know," Harry says as he grips the phone tightly in his hand. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Ditch that guy," Logan tells him. "Block his number. Just find another customer."

"I will." Harry nods even though Logan can't see him. Only Harry can see his own face in the mirror—eyes wide and face pale with fear. "Thank you, Logan. I'm sorry."

"Good," Logan says firmly. "Anyway, I called to let you know that I won't be home for a bit. Something came up, but I expect you to make your quotas as usual, yeah? And if you need help and can't reach me, call Ricky or the other boys. Got it?"

"Got it," Harry says.

Without another word, Logan hangs up. Harry lets out a shaky breath and leans against the sink, closing his eyes. Fuck. He can't keep messing up like this.

There's a split second where he considers sending Aaron a final text and telling him he can't make it tonight. It would be so much easier to just pretend like Aaron doesn't exist, but Harry can't find it in himself to do it. Instead, he shakes his head and tells himself once again that this is the last time. 

Harry finger-combs his hair as best as he can before leaving the bathroom. He stands outside, and before he can pull his phone out to ask Aaron where he is, a van covered with spray-painted doodles and designs stops right in front of him. Harry is a millisecond away from sprinting towards the opposite direction in panic when the door slides open, and several familiar faces beam at him.

"Hop in!" It's Casey, grinning from ear to ear. Beside her, Tommy waves at him, then there's Steven and Aaron in the driver's and passenger seat.

"Hey," Harry says with a laugh. He starts walking towards the van when Steven hops off the passenger seat and grins at him.

"You get the prime seat," Steven tells him with a wink before sitting down with Tommy and Casey in the back. Harry takes the passenger seat.

"Hi," Aaron immediately greets from beside him, his eyes sparkling. Harry closes the door and puts his seatbelt on.

"Hi," Harry says, a bit out of breath. There's a few seconds of silence as they just stare at each other (Harry's too busy admiring how Aaron's red tank top brings focus to his arm muscles and tattoos) when someone clears their throat from behind.

"We're glad you're gonna be watching us, Harry. Aaron won't shut up about it," Tommy says, followed by teasing laughter from the others.

"Oh, shut up," Aaron says without any heat. When he looks back at Harry, there's that familiar smile he seems to always have for Harry, and it makes Harry's insides twist. Not in a bad way—never. It feels the same way he felt when he had his first kiss with his friend when he was so much younger, or when his crush from high school complimented his outfit. It makes Harry feel so young.

"Thanks for letting me tag along," Harry tells them, throwing a dimpled smile over his shoulder. "I, um. I saw your YouTube covers. I think you're all amazing."

"Thank you, you're a sweetheart," Casey says, taking Harry slightly by surprise when she pecks his cheek. He doesn't mind, though. Surprisingly, it reminds him of how Gemma would kiss his cheek when she thinks he was asleep when they were younger.

"We're ten times more amazing when we're live," Steven tells him proudly.

"You don't know The Red until you see us live," Tommy adds.

The conversation carries on as Aaron starts driving again. Harry looks behind and realizes that the band's instruments are there as well—the drumset, guitars and bass, even a keyboard. When Harry mentions it, Casey goes into a detailed story of how they didn't use to have their own instruments. They used to borrow and rent, until they found random gigs in bars across the city. It doesn't pay as well as they'd like, but it meant they got discovered by people who really liked them. Generous fans gave them old instruments, and from there, it was easier to buy the other things they needed.

Harry loves it when people talk about things they're passionate about. He watches Casey's incredible smile, Steven's enthusiasm, Tommy's talkativeness, and the sparkle in Aaron's eyes. There was a time when Harry was this passionate about something, and looking at them now feels like staring at ghosts. It's a sad sentiment, but it still brings a smile to Harry's face because at least these people aren't as miserable as he is, which Harry finds is a blessing in itself.

Casey, Tommy, and Steven are currently debating about the best toppings for pizza when Harry turns and finds Aaron already staring at him. They're stuck in traffic but no one seems to be worried, so Harry's quite relaxed as well. Aaron has one hand resting on the steering wheel while his other hand reaches out to touch the side of Harry's face. Harry belatedly notices the worried frown Aaron's wearing.

"What happened here? Does this hurt?" Aaron says, softly caressing the skin near his temple.

Harry frowns. "What?" 

"Here, you have a bruise. Did you hit your head?"

Right. Harry didn't think it would bruise, but it would've been so much better if he still put foundation over it just in case. He wants to tell Aaron something like "I'm a prostitute, it's a job hazard," but he bites the words back and settles for a shrug.

"I walked into a pole earlier," Harry says. He tacks on a sheepish smile.

That makes the sides of Aaron's lips twitch upward. "You walked into a pole?"

"I don't have a 20/20 vision, it happens."

"Neither do I, but I can differentiate a pole from an open space."

"I was distracted."

"Ah, busy texting?"

"I was texting you, so this is actually your fault," Harry says.

They laugh at the same time. Aaron says, "My apologies. I think you wear it well, though. You look like a badass."

"Thanks. It's the exact look I was going for." Harry can't stop smiling like an idiot. He's reminded again of why he just _can't_ let this thing end. He can't imagine not looking forward to seeing Aaron after an entire day of being forced to see other men he couldn't give less of a fuck about. He can't imagine not waking up to Aaron's goofy good morning messages or going to bed without his good night texts. He can't imagine not catching a break from his life, can't imagine not having Aaron and his friends around to make it seem like it's better than it really is.

"Jokes aside, take care of yourself, alright? You don't deserve to have bruises on you," Aaron tells him seriously, taking his hand and squeezing.

Harry purses his lips. "I'm naturally clumsy. I can't promise you anything."

"That's fine. Give me a call and I'll hold your hand throughout the entire day to make sure you don't trip on your own feet."

Harry laughs. "I might consider that, I hope you're serious."

"I'm always serious when it comes to you, babe," Aaron says with a cheeky wink. Harry rolls his eyes fondly at him.

Throughout the rest of the ride, Harry lets himself have this. _One last time_ , Harry tells himself. They'll have a fun night listening to music. Harry will allow himself to pretend like he belongs. 

With the way Aaron's looking at him, he starts to think that maybe there's the smallest possibility that he really does.


	10. Chapter 10

The band's set goes by in a flurry of guitar riffs, deep bass, and loud cheers. Harry sits at one of the tables nearest the makeshift stage along with some of Aaron's other friends. The only person he vaguely recognizes is the pretty girl named Clara from the party they went to before, and several more familiar faces who goes to Holton University. Luckily, Harry doesn't have to socialize for long because once the band started playing, all eyes were on them.

Casey is the lead singer, Tommy is on the bass guitar, Steven is the lead guitarist, while Aaron is the drummer. They sound amazing, of course they do, and Harry lets it be known as he cheers along with the other people and claps enthusiastically after every song. They're set to perform four songs in total, and they're on their third song for the night.

Aaron finds his gaze through the crowd, giving him a smile or a wink as he sets the beat for every song. Harry has always known that Aaron was attractive, but tonight, he looks even more so. It's not just his biceps or the tattoos littered on his skin—it's the skill he possesses in playing the drums, the spirit and energy he has in performing in front of the crowd. Tonight, he specifically seems to be performing for _Harry_ , and it makes his heart feel ten times larger.

Harry is reminded of those days when he used to sneak out in the middle of the night to enter bars and watch bands play at festivals. Tonight doesn't feel all that different, aside from the fact that the band he's watching knows who he is, and he's no longer using fake IDs to buy himself alcohol.

He's on his third or fourth bottle of beer, and he's feeling pleasantly buzzed. He's reached the point of becoming a bit unsteady on his feet, but otherwise, he isn't all that drunk. When the band's set finally comes to an end, Harry leaps up from his seat to cheer.

Aaron, Tommy, Casey, and Steven all go straight to their table with big smiles on their faces. One of the guys at the table hands them drinks as the table fills with chatter. Harry's cheeks hurt from grinning when Aaron stands beside him, slightly sweaty with bright eyes.

"You were amazing!" Harry tells him, stepping closer.

"So were you," Aaron says with a laugh, resting his hands on Harry's waist. He leans closer to Harry's ear so they can hear each other over the noise, "I could hear your cheers from the stage!"

Harry smiles clumsily. "Good. I'm just getting you ready for the flock of crazy fangirls you'll collect over the years."

Aaron smiles brightly and says something in response. Harry frowns and motions that he can't hear him over the new band that's now performing in front.

Aaron bites his lip and leans in, his lips brushing against Harry's earlobe. "Do you want to go outside?"

Harry's nodding before he's even done asking. Aaron takes his hand and leads him through the crowd, while Harry waves goodbye to Casey who's watching them with a smile.

Outside, the cold air makes Harry shiver. They lean against the brick wall and watch the cars drive past them for a moment. When Harry turns his head to look at him, Aaron's already watching him.

"Are you drunk?" Aaron asks with a hint of amusement.

Harry shakes his head. "Had just a few. Why?"

"Because I really want to kiss you right now," Aaron says softly, turning his body to face him.

Harry smiles. "You don't have to ask."

"Of course I do," Aaron mutters, leaning in even closer and placing a hand on his cheek. Harry leans up on his tiptoes and presses their lips together. He runs his hands down his chest while Aaron holds his face with both of his hands. It makes Harry feel warm, skin tingling wherever they touch.

Harry expects the kiss to escalate, but Aaron pulls away after a while, keeping the kiss chaste and sweet. He pecks the corner of Harry's mouth three times before pulling away for good, smiling softly at him as he caresses Harry's cheek.

"Thank you for being here. It's the best Christmas slash New Year gift I've had in a while," Aaron says.

"Same," Harry murmurs, resting his head on Aaron's shoulder. Aaron wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close so their bodies are pressed together, while his other hand plays with Harry's hair. "Holidays have been shitty lately."

"Why do you say so?"

"Let's just say I live a pathetic life."

He feels Aaron shake his head. "No you don't. I mean, sure, uni must be hard. You must miss your family as well, yeah? It's normal to feel that way, especially if you're used to always being with them. Just know that they're proud of you because you're out here studying hard."

The mention of his family makes tears spring to his eyes. He plays with the neckline of Aaron's top, voice shaky when he says, "I miss them so bad."

"I know, babe. You can always give them a call, yeah?"

"We don't talk anymore."

There's a beat of silence as Aaron takes a deep breath and pulls him even close. Harry buries his face in the corner of his neck, clinging to him tightly. He concentrates hard and wills his tears not to fall.

"Why not?" Aaron asks, surprised.

"Because I—" Harry bites his tongue. He wants to tell Aaron the truth, of course he does. It would be so easy to tell him that distancing himself from his family is the only way to protect them. That his mother is still in rehab and thinks her son is living the best life with his boyfriend, when in reality, his pimp controls him and makes money off of his body. He wants to tell him that Gemma doesn't even know what's going on in his life, hasn't known for years and probably never will. That the next time Gemma sees him, it'll probably be to identify his rotten corpse found in a random trunk or a dingy motel bathroom. But he knows he can't. So, he takes a deep breath and lies—because lies are always better than the ugly truth. "I had a big fight with my mom and sister. We, um. Haven't properly talked in years."

"What about your dad?"

Harry goes rigid. He decides to tell the truth and whispers, "He's dead."

"I'm so sorry," Aaron says, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

Harry forces out a laugh and pulls away slightly so he can peer up at him. "It's whatever. He was a dick. Anyway, let's not talk about depressing shit, yeah? I'm not gonna ruin your night."

"You're not ruining my night," Aaron tells him firmly. "I'm happy that you feel comfortable enough to open up to me. I'm a good listener, or so I've been told. If you want to talk about this stuff, I'm more than okay with it."

Harry nods, his chest feeling tight. His voice is a bit wobbly when he says, "I appreciate that. But, um. I really don't want to talk about it right now. Sorry."

"That's okay," Aaron says, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I'm comfortable with whatever you're comfortable with."

Harry doesn't know what to say, so he leans in for another kiss. He hopes that Aaron understands, and if his soft but secure touches are anything to go by, maybe he does.

×××

When Harry hears Gemma's name in the middle of his nap the following day, he goes completely still under the covers. He can hear Logan's voice from the living room, probably talking to someone on the phone. He shuffles closer to the wall and listens in as Logan continues talking.

"...Styles girl arrived in the city. Well, keep a close eye on her. Wait for my instructions before doing anything. Do not fuck this up, Ricky."

Harry's heart thuds painfully against his chest. His sleep-muddled brain isn't sure if he heard that right. _Gemma's in the city_ , he thinks, as dread fills up his stomach. _Why the fuck is she here?_

His mind races and he thinks back to weeks ago when he went behind Logan's back to get Gemma's number and warn her _not_ to come here and fall into Logan's trap. He should've known that that would only push Gemma to do exactly that, especially since she heard his voice and had more questions after that phone call. Harry's so fucking stupid—how could he not have come up with a better plan? Logan and his men already have their eyes on her, how will Harry protect her this time around?

"You're awake."

Harry flinches in surprise. He didn't realize that Logan was standing in the doorway. His face is obscured by darkness, but Harry can feel his gaze on him.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Logan says casually, walking over to the bedside table to put his phone down. He sits beside Harry on the bed and Harry stares at his knee instead of his face.

"I, um." Harry's throat feels tight and images of Gemma getting kidnapped and going through everything Harry barely survived flashes through his mind. Shakily, he says, "I heard Gemma's name."

"She was spotted arriving at the train station yesterday. From the baggage she was carrying, seems like she's planning to stay here for a while," Logan says matter-of-factly. But Harry doesn't fail to hear the mocking undercurrent in his tone.

Harry's eyes blur from unshed tears. He quickly wipes them away before they drop, not wanting to give Logan the satisfaction. He pushes himself into a sitting position with his shaky arms and stares Logan straight in the eyes. "You don't have to do this."

Logan is unfazed. "You and your family brought this upon yourselves, Harry. I'm not the bad guy here."

Harry swallows, lower lip trembling as he reaches out and rests his hands on Logan's thighs. When he doesn't get reprimanded for it, Harry says, "Please, Logan. I'll do anything, just—don't bring Gemma into this—"

"We've been through this," Logan says through gritted teeth, gripping his wrists tightly. "If you continue with this, you know who's going to pay for it, right? Why do you have to be so fucking difficult?"

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, an image of his mother in the rehab center, randomly dead one day flashes in his head. He bites back a sob. "I know."

"Then what the fuck do you think you're doing, trying to negotiate? Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?"

Harry knows that tone—it's the agitated tone that's supposed to warn Harry for a hit to come. Harry shakes his fear away and dares himself to meet Logan's hard gaze. "Please, Logan. Gemma is innocent. You already have me, please, I _know_ there's goodness in you—"

Harry tastes blood in his mouth as soon as Logan's fist hits the side of his face, sending him slamming into the wall. Harry hides his face in his hands and sobs.

"Know your fucking place," Logan seethes, kneeing his way up the bed to grip Harry by the hair and yank it down so Harry's forced to look up at him. "I'm not your friend, get that through your thick skull. You can beg all you want, but I'll warn you, you're only making it worse for yourself."

Logan slams his head into the wall, making the room spin as he chokes on a whimper. 

"Don't think I don't know what you've been up to lately, by the way," Logan says sharply. He hastily gets off the bed, leaves the room, and when he returns, he's clutching a red box. The red box containing the cassette player and cassette tapes Aaron got him for Christmas. Harry gasps.

Logan knees his way up the bed again so he's in front of Harry and dumps the box's contents on the bed. Logan grabs his hair and yanks it down so Harry's looking up at him, making Harry cry out. "Found this hidden under the bathroom sink. Who gave you this?"

Tears blur his vision. "I—I got it myself—"

Logan's palm hitting his face echoes loudly in the room. "Don't fucking lie to me. I know you have a client who likes sneaking you around and buying you gifts, yeah? Tell me his fucking name."

"Logan, please—" Harry tries, his mind struggling to come up with a way out of this. There's a part of him that's very relieved, though, since at least Logan hasn't figured out his friendship with Aaron. Yet.

"His _name_ , Harry," Logan grits out, tightening his grip on his hair. In their position, he's looking down at Harry, his dark eyes livid. "You know my rules, Harry. If a client gets too clingy and doesn't follow my rules, I teach them a lesson. Can't mix emotions with business, Harry. You know this."

"I'm sorry," Harry cries, his scalp burning from Logan's hold. Barely thinking straight, he comes up with a random regular in his panic, "It's Michael—Michael C-carlton. I'm sorry!"

Logan merely clenches his jaw before shoving him back towards the wall. Harry's chest heaves from the sobs racking through his body. Logan pointedly takes the cassettes and the cassette player before tossing it to the ground and heavily stomping on them with his feet. Harry squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around his legs as he curls into the corner.

"I'll get a replacement for Michael Carlton, you got that? You're not going to see him again. _Understand?_ " Logan's voice is booming with barely-contained rage underneath.

"I understand," Harry whispers, forcing his eyes open to meet Logan's glare.

Logan gives him a calculating once-over before walking out the room. He slams the door behind him, but Harry hears his him say, "That shit better be cleaned up by the time I'm back."

Harry sniffles as he picks up the destroyed cassette tapes and player on the floor. He thinks about Aaron's happy smile and how disappointed he'd be in Harry if he found out the current condition of his gift. His chest aches.

He tosses them all in the trash. Gemma's name echoes in his head. Once again, he cries and prays that Gemma is kept safe, even though he doubts anyone is listening to him.

The day goes on as usual—Harry meets his clients, collects his payment and trudges forward. There's a dark cloud hanging over his head filled with thoughts of Gemma and Mom. He remedies it by getting himself intoxicated enough to the point that his problems don't seem so sharp and brutal, until everything is cloudy and soft in the edges that all he has to do is float and let the wind carry him where it desires as he works through the day.

He doesn't respond to any of Aaron's texts. He's made several attempts to block his number and end this once and for all, but he can never go through with it and it makes him feel even weaker than he already is. Instead, he ignores ever notification that he received a text from him and focuses on the cold brick wall pressed against his cheek, cutting into his skin as a faceless man fucks him from behind and grips his wrists so hard that his hands feel numb. He focuses on the pain, on the sharp slaps and hungry mouths, on anything but the inevitable storm that's to come.

Somehow, albeit barely, he makes it through.

×××

Harry meets his last regular client for the night. He remembers thinking that Preston is one of his better clients, with his tendency to treat Harry like his spouse and shower him with soft kisses like no other client would. Except, Preston is like an entirely different person tonight. When Harry knocks on his hotel room, he's not greeted by a sweet kiss, but instead he's dragged in harshly by his arm.

"Clothes. Off." Preston is drunk, Harry can already tell. Maybe even high, judging by his blown pupils. His gaze is hard. Harry's never seen him like this.

He removes his coat and unbuttons his shirt while Preston impatiently gets his jeans off. When he's finally naked, he's dragged to bed. Preston practically shoves him onto the mattress before climbing after him and covering Harry's body with his, hovering over him for a moment before leaning down for a hot, hurried kiss. Harry groans when Preston bites his bottom lip hard, hard enough that Harry wonders if he's drawn blood.

Preston preps him with lubed fingers, but he's sloppier and more careless than before. When Harry holds onto his shoulders like he knows he likes, Preston grunts and takes his hands, pinning them on the mattress over his head.

"You're not allowed to fucking touch me," Preston hisses, eyes blazing as he stares down at Harry, "after what you did…"

Harry knows Preston is into roleplaying, but usually, he'd inform Harry about the specifics before they get started. Harry opens his mouth to say just that, but then Preston is shoving a rolled-up necktie between his lips to shut him up.

Harry tries moving his hands but it's difficult to break free from Preston's grip on his wrists.

There's a crackle of a condom wrapper, and then he's sliding into Harry with no warning. Harry's gasp of pain is muffled by the necktie in his mouth.

"Can he fuck you like this, huh? Was it fucking worth it if he can't fuck you like this?" Preston pants, slamming in hard.

Harry screams, pain shooting up his spine. Preston doesn't stop—he fucks him rough and quick and careless that Harry can barely breathe, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. Preston licks and bites the side of his neck, down his collarbones and nipples, surely leaving behind bruises. Harry aches all over—he can barely feel his hands from how tight Preston is gripping his wrists. He's used to pain but it still catches him off guard every time, and there's something about tonight that makes him feel everything. Suddenly he's unable to block out the loud slap of skin against skin, the creaking bed or Preston's predatory gaze. He feels it all—the pain, the fear, the hopelessness—and it washes over him like a tide, overwhelming him to the point where he feels like he's drowning.

"You're mine, you're fucking mine," Preston growls, and then slaps Harry hard across the face. Harry hears the sound before he feels the pain blooming on his skin, but when he finally registers it, new tears spring to his eyes.

"Stop," Harry chokes out, but it all comes out as a muffled sound with the piece of cloth in his mouth. 

Preston does it again, twice in a row. Harry cries out. Preston slams into him even harder and Harry starts twisting and turning underneath him, trying in vain to get away as he chokes on his spit. Preston pins his hip to the mattress with one hand and only goes harder.

"Fucking slut," Preston says gruffly. Suddenly, he's pulling out and turning Harry around so he's on his front. Harry's head spins as he tries to regain his bearings, and then Preston's spanking him hard—hard enough to make his arms collapse so he falls face-first into the mattress.

Preston keeps on murmuring sharp words, and at one point he calls him Sylvia. He puts a hand on the back of Harry's neck so his upper body is pressed into the mattress while his ass is up in the air, red and stinging from several hits. Preston slides into him again, and though the angle makes the pain more bearable, Harry still cries out.

When Preston wraps a hand around his neck from behind as if to choke him, Harry panics and kicks his legs out, screaming out a muffled "Stop!"

"Shh, shh, I got you," Preston's breath is hot against the side of his neck, smelling of liquor. He tightens his hand around Harry's neck and Harry feels the blood rushing in his ears and his heartbeat picking up. For a moment Harry wonders if this is it—if he'll die in this random hotel room tonight, choked to death by a man who pays to fuck him regularly, only to be identified as a nameless whore who had it coming all along. 

Harry chokes and sputters when Preston gets two hands around his neck, black spots suddenly dotting his vision as he flails and kicks and screams with no sound. 

It's the thought of Gemma being in his position, especially after finding out that Logan and his men have their eyes on her now, that sends a new surge of strength through his body, because he can't die just yet, not when he still has to protect his family.

Harry elbows him hard in the gut, earning a pained groan. He shoves Preston off him, strong enough to make him tumble off the bed and fall to the floor. Harry's lungs and throat burn as he sucks in as much air as he can, the room spinning when he somehow gets onto his feet. For a moment he stands there, breathing hard and sobbing, but then Preston starts getting up from the floor and fear pushes Harry to grab whatever pieces of clothing he can find before running out the door, his vision still blurry and his head throbbing so bad that he doesn't know how he even managed to get to the stairwell and wrap himself up in his coat that reaches about halfway down his thighs, naked underneath. 

He's sobbing so hard it's making it even harder to breathe, so he closes his eyes and breathes in and out for a few seconds until he hears Preston's voice echoing down the hall. 

Harry runs and doesn't look back.

Somehow, he makes it out to the streets, the world still spinning and blurry around him. He sits behind a dumpster and cries, his entire body trembling as he shakily pulls out his phone and calls Logan.

"Please pick up…" Harry cries, but his voice isn't even working anymore. He calms himself down when he reminds himself that this has happened before and Logan sorted it out for him, so everything will be okay. Logan might be a terrible person, but he knows how to run a business and he needs his prostitutes alive if he wants to make money out of them. Logan's going to deal with Preston so Harry doesn't have to see him again, and Harry will get over it and pretend like it didn't scar him at all.

Logan doesn't pick up. The voice on his phone says that the number he's trying to dial is unavailable. Harry lets out a frustrated cry, hands trembling as he tries to call him again.

He sits there for fifteen minutes calling Logan again and again, but Harry can't reach him. Harry's panic-riddled brain doesn't think twice to call Aaron instead, thinking of his gentle hands and eyes that are nothing but kind. 

"Hello?" Aaron picks up on the fourth ring.

Harry cries out in relief upon hearing his voice and can't seem to stop crying after that.

"Harry? What's happening?" Aaron immediately says, his tone morphing into concern and confusion. "Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm sorry, I n-need help," Harry tries to say, but no sound comes out of his mouth aside from a few broken syllables that don't make sense.

"Harry, I can't understand you. Can you say that again?" Aaron sounds calm and collected but Harry can hear the panic that's slowly creeping into his voice. Harry tries responding but ends up crying again when his voice fails to work.

"Okay, okay, please take a deep breath for me, can you do that?" Aaron himself sounds breathless. Harry nods as if Aaron can see it and sucks in a large gulp of air through his shuddering breaths. "That's good, Harry. You're doing great. Here's what we'll do—text me where you are, yeah? I can't understand you, so I need you to text me where you are. Can you do that for me, love?"

Harry says "yes" but the only sound he makes is the drawn-out "s" sound.

"Okay, okay. Hang up for now and call me again after you send the text, alright?" Aaron says, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Somehow, Harry manages to do that through the muddled mess of his brain and his throbbing body. Harry texts him the name of the hotel, telling him he's in the narrow alley beside it, and immediately calls him back.

"I got it, I'll be right there," Aaron says, and the amount of concern in his voice somehow calms Harry down. "Stay on the phone with me, okay? I'm coming."

Harry clutches his phone for dear life, chest heaving as his body shakes from the cold. He's only wearing a fucking coat and he's barefoot on the cold pavement. Harry doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Aaron, but that's the least of his concerns right now.

"Are you hurt, Harry? Babe, I'm in my car and I'll be there in a bit, but I need to know if I have to call the ambulance—"

"No," Harry says frantically, his throat feeling raw as he forces the sound out of his mouth. "No ambulance or police. _Please_."

Aaron seems to understand him despite Harry practically being voiceless. "Okay, I won't call, I promise."

Harry's only aware of the cold and the busy sound of the street for what feels like hours, but eventually, he hears quiet footsteps from the edge of the alley. He immediately freezes and presses closer to the wall to hide himself behind the dumpster, but then he hears Aaron's voice.

"Harry?"

Harry's response is a pathetic whimper as he hauls himself onto his feet, limbs trembling and threatening to buckle. Once he's standing, Aaron finds him. Harry sees the exact moment Harry's appearance registers to Aaron—his face pales, eyes wide with panic as he runs to Harry, muttering profanities under his breath.

Once Aaron's close enough to touch, Harry jumps into his arms and holds onto him tightly, his entire body trembling from both the cold and the sobs racking through his body. Aaron's arms around him are strong and warm. Harry wants to melt into him and never wake up.

"Fuck, Harry," Aaron sounds close to tears. He tries to pull away to look at Harry's face but Harry keeps his head down, unable to control the ugly sobs painfully being ripped out of his lungs. "Fuck, okay. My car's right there by the curb, can you walk?"

Harry nods against his chest but doesn't make a move to walk, only pressing himself closer to Aaron. Eventually, Aaron picks him up as best as he can, which turns out to be bridal style, and Harry hides his face against Aaron's neck, tears and spit gathering at his skin there. At the very least Harry knows he's as light as a feather and Aaron's not having a hard time. He hopes.

Aaron sits him down in the passenger seat, securing the seatbelt over his chest and pulls away. Harry doesn't know why he's acting this way, but he grips the sleeve of his shirt desperately, keeping him hunched over the door.

"Love, I'm not leaving, I just need to get to the other side, yeah?" Aaron tells him softly, but his voice cracks. When Harry looks up, he realizes that Aaron's eyes are glassy with unshed tears. Reluctantly, Harry lets go. Aaron smiles—it looks forced—and closes his door before jogging around the car and getting into the driver's seat. He takes Harry's hand while he drives with his other hand, and Harry squeezes back.

The ride is silent save for Harry's occasional whimpers and sniffles. He's staring out the window and everything feels and sounds like white noise. He doesn't feel awake. He feels detached from his body and he can imagine what he must look like from the passers-by perspectives outside the car—a poor, beat-up kid with soulless eyes. He doesn't want to imagine what Aaron sees him as right now.

Everything's fuzzy and murky in his head when Aaron pulls over in front of a red-brick building. Aaron rushes over to his side and opens the door. Harry lets him lead him into the building and up a few flights of stairs. Aaron's talking to him, Harry can see his mouth move and his brows furrow in concern but Harry doesn't understand a word. He's cold but his body feels numb. It feels like his brain has shut down and Harry's on autopilot, walking and carrying his weight but _absent_. It's no surprise that this isn't the first time he's felt like this.

There's a gaping black hole in his memory because the next thing he knows, he's sitting on a couch in an apartment with a duvet being wrapped around his shoulders. Aaron is kneeling in front of him, his eyes almost manic with worry as he takes Harry's face between his palms.

"...hear me? Where are you hurt? Fuck, you're shaking. Harry. Please answer me, I need to know how I can help you."

Distantly, Harry notes how he's never seen Aaron like this before. He's always jolly and grinning and teasing. Always happy. Harry has a curse, perhaps, of destroying everything beautiful and bright.

"I'm sorry," Harry hears himself say. His voice is still practically non-existent, but Aaron seems to read his lips just fine.

"God, don't apologize, please," Aaron says, smiling shakily. The first tear drops on his pale cheek. Harry reaches out with a trembling hand and wipes it away.

"Harry? Please talk to me." Aaron's begging him at this point, clearly holding back tears. The only thing Harry can think of is how he ruined Aaron's night. He probably had plans for New Year's eve but Harry ruined it. It's the only thing he knows how to do.

At one point, Aaron is gently bringing a bottle of water up to his mouth. Harry doesn't remember where that suddenly came from, but he complies and opens his mouth. The water soothes his throat and clears his head a bit. Aaron's at his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Harry lets himself be held and melts into his side, staring at the blank wall in front of them.

"Do you feel better now?" Aaron asks, his voice quiet. Harry nods. "Okay. I can get you some warm clothes, if you'd like?"

Harry nods again. He wonders what Aaron must be thinking about the fact that Harry's only wearing a coat and is completely naked underneath. Aaron says he'll be right back and disappears behind one of the rooms before emerging with the promised clothes. Harry hates that Aaron's eyes look so dim and his face is paler than usual, lacking its usual glow, so he looks down at his feet and pulls the duvet tighter around his body.

"Here," Aaron says, handing him the clothes. There's still a crease between his eyebrows when he says, "The bathroom is that way, if you want to use it."

Harry goes to the bathroom and locks the door behind him. He avoids his reflection at all costs. The jumper and sweatpants Aaron gave him hang off his body pathetically. Harry hangs his coat on the hook behind the door and splashes cold water onto his face. He takes deep breaths until he feels more awake and braces himself as he steps out to face Aaron.

Aaron is immediately on his feet as soon as Harry leaves the bathroom. He's watching Harry with a mix of caution and worry, so Harry gives him a small smile to quell his anxiety.

"Thanks," Harry mouths. He doesn't know how long it will take for his voice to come back, but it hurts to force a sound out of it so he doesn't even try anymore.

"I made you tea," Aaron tells him, motioning at the steaming mug at the coffee table. "It'll help with your voice."

Harry wraps his arms around his torso and sits back down on the couch. Aaron picks up the duvet he dropped earlier and drapes it over his shoulders again. Harry takes the mug of tea and uses it to warm his hands.

The silence is deafening. Harry can't even begin to imagine the amount of panic he caused Aaron. Harry's experienced worse with his clients before and he didn't exactly turn into a crying baby in front of Logan, so whatever the fuck happened just now, Harry blames it on the bottled-up emotions he's been keeping inside for the last few months.

Harry takes a sip from his tea and glances at him. Aaron still looks like he's a second away from crying as his eyes take in Harry's face and neck—fuck, there's probably finger-shaped bruises there—so Harry licks his cracked lips and says, "I'm fine. Sorry about that."

Aaron lets out a humorless laugh. "You are _not_ fine, Harry. You call me in the middle of the night crying, and when I find you you're covered in bruises and wearing nothing but a long coat. You were so out of it that I couldn't even talk to you for half an hour—"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispers, lower lip trembling. "I just didn't know who else to call. I know I shouldn't have—"

"Hey," Aaron cuts him off, his voice soft but firm at the same time and looks him straight in the eye. "I'm not mad that you called me, I'm _relieved_ you did. I'm just—I'm so worried, I don't know what happened to you and I don't know if I'm helping you the right way. I just panicked. I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you. Never at you."

Harry sniffles. "It's not—it's nothing bad. I know it _looks_ bad, but it's not. I just got mugged. I just overreacted."

Aaron obviously doesn't buy it. His jaw clenches, his gaze hardening as he looks from Harry's neck to his wrists. Gently, he takes Harry's hands and pushes the sleeve out of the way, revealing darkening finger-shaped bruises on his pale skin. He looks back at Harry, eyes glinting with barely-concealed anger as he says, "Who did this, Harry?"

Harry knows Aaron's mad at the person who hurt him and not at Harry himself, but his tone still makes Harry flinch. 

"It—I told you, it was a random mugger," Harry says quietly.

"What happened to your clothes?"

Harry fish-mouths for a bit, and then says, "There were a bunch of them. They thought it was funny if they'd take my clothes too."

Aaron looks sad and enraged at the same time. He squeezes Harry's hand and says gently, "Why won't you tell me the truth, Harry? I'm here to help. Whoever did this—" Aaron doesn't finish his sentence as his voice cracks. He shakes his head. "You can trust me, I promise."

"I'm not lying," Harry says weakly, staring at the design on Aaron's T-shirt and avoiding his gaze.

"And what about the bruises?" Aaron sounds desperate, voice shaky as he lightly runs his thumb over the purplish-green bruises around his wrists. Harry thinks of hundreds of other scars he's got hidden beneath his clothes.

"I put up a fight. The muggers held me down," Harry whispers.

Aaron probably realizes that Harry's not going to tell him the truth, because he sighs and looks at Harry with so much sadness that Harry has to look away.

"Do you want to file a police report?"

"No."

"Do you need to call someone? A friend, a roommate?"

Logan. Harry still has a few hours until he's expected back at the apartment, and the logical thing would be to call Logan and let him know what happened anyway. But Harry finds himself shaking his head, because this is an opportunity to spend the next few hours away from that man, and he's grabbing it.

"Okay. I'll make you some food, do you want to move to the kitchen?" Aaron asks. His hand is still on Harry's back and the other holding Harry's closed fist, and Harry likes his warmth. It's the only touch he's welcomed in a while.

"I kind of wanted to rest, if that's okay," Harry whispers, looking at the long expanse of the couch.

"Of course," Aaron says softly. "You can take my bed, if you want?"

Harry shakes his head. "The couch is fine, thank you."

Aaron immediately gets to work and retrieves a few pillows from the bedroom. Once everything's set, Harry lies down and covers his entire body with the duvet, staring up at the ceiling. Aaron hovers by his feet for a while, so Harry says, "Can you please stay?"

"You don't even have to ask," Aaron says with a small smile. There's still a hint of sadness in his eyes, but Harry still takes it as a win that he seems calmer now. Harry scoots over and presses himself to the backrest while Aaron sits beside him, running his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry sighs, pressing his face against Aaron's joggers.

"You can sleep now. I'm right here," Aaron says softly, voice cracking.

Harry closes his eyes. He falls asleep to the feeling of gentle hands in his hair. In that moment, it feels like nothing could go wrong, so Harry makes the most out of it as best as he can.

×××

Harry wakes up to the smell of bacon.

Half asleep, he imagines his mom in the kitchen with low music playing in the background, while Gemma jumps on his bed to wake him up. His dad would already be at the table, nose buried in a newspaper, his button up shirt and slacks ironed and crisp. 

He blinks his eyes open and squints at the sunlight pouring in from the window. He groans as the dull pain in his backside and limbs come back to focus and pushes his hair out of his face. It takes him a moment to remember where he is and what happened the night before, making his breath stutter in his chest.

"Hey, I made breakfast."

Harry sits up and finds Aaron across the room in a bright red apron, his smile as bright as the sunlight streaming through the window. A closer look tells Harry that Aaron doesn't seem very well-rested, what with the bags underneath his eyes and his pale complexion.

"It's okay, you didn't have to," Harry says, his voice still rough but not as bad as last night. "I can get out of your hair if—"

"Please, Harry. Join me. Wouldn't want all this to go to waste," Aaron says, gesturing at the plates overflowing with bacon and scrambled eggs on the kitchen counter.

Harry doesn't even remember the last time he ate. His stomach gives a pitiful grumble, so Harry does as told and joins Aaron in the kitchen. Harry winces when he sits on the stool as his sore muscles and bruises protest. 

He can feel Aaron watching him closely. Harry shoves food into his mouth, but even with his hunger, the food tastes stale. He mumbles a thanks when Aaron passes him a steaming mug of tea and takes a generous sip. 

"Um," Harry says unsurely, looking around the room and at the couch. "Have you seen my phone?"

He's trying his best not to outwardly panic at the thought of Logan. Fuck. What time even is it? 

"Here," Aaron says, pulling the flip phone out of his pocket and handing it over to Harry. "Sorry, I heard it ringing when you were asleep and found it in the bathroom."

Harry swallows. "Did you—you didn't answer the call, did you?"

"I didn't," Aaron tells him placatingly as though he could feel the panic building up inside Harry. Harry lets out a breath. He tries to open his phone but the battery seems to have died. Aaron clears his throat and says, "There was someone called Logan who was sending a lot of texts. I didn't mean to look, I promise, it just flashed on the screen and—"

"You can't do that," Harry hisses, panic clouding his mind. "That's—this is my stuff. You can't do that."

"I didn't mean to," Aaron tries again, moving his hands as though to touch his arm, but Harry nearly stumbles as he gets off the stool to stand up. "Harry—please, I'm trying to help."

"I need to go," Harry chokes out, his head spinning as he walks towards the door.

He nearly bumps into Aaron when he blocks his way. Aaron's face is a mixture of guilt and determination as he says, "I can't just let you go like this, after everything—"

"I was fucking mugged, that's it," Harry spits, "let me the fuck out."

Aaron clenches his jaw and shakes his head. Harry keeps his chin up as to not cower before Aaron's taller frame. "We need to talk."

"We don't need to do _shit_."

"Who is that guy? I've seen his texts and—Harry, he's threatening to hurt you—"

"Shut up!" Harry yells, tears blurring his vision.

"You can trust me," Aaron pleads, grabbing his shoulders. "At least talk to me first before you go back there, alright? I can't—fuck Harry, I can't risk something even worse than last night happening to you. I care about you and I want you to be safe. _Please_ talk to me."

Harry hides his face in his palms and lets out an ugly sob. He's so fucking tired and he just wants to go back to Logan's apartment so he can face the man's wrath once and for all and get it over with. Perhaps Logan would have mercy on him and actually kill him this time around. But Aaron—why does he have to care? Why can't he just pretend to believe Harry's lies and let him fucking go? Why does he have to make Harry's already miserable life even more difficult?

He doesn't realize that he's curled up against the wall until Aaron sits at his side and pulls him into an embrace. Harry tries to push him away at first, but his warmth is inviting and familiar, so he gives in and cries into his shirt, his entire body shaking as he struggles to catch his breath. 

Aaron holds him tightly, slightly rocking them back and forth as he whispers "it's okay" in Harry's ear. Harry feels the smallest he's ever felt in a while—not the type of small he feels when he's under Logan's sharp gaze or in his clients' beds, but the good type that makes it feel good to be held and comforted and _cared_ for. Harry hasn't felt that in so long, so the feeling of Aaron's sturdy chest pressed against him and his strong arms around his back makes Harry fall apart.

"You—can't—help me," Harry hears himself say in between sobs. Aaron rubs circles onto his back while Harry buries his face in his neck. "I'm sorry."

"I can and I will." The certainty and firmness of Aaron's voice makes something like hope flare up inside Harry. "You hear me? Whatever's happening right now, I'll help you out of it. I promise you."

Harry believes that Aaron thinks this. He's not sure if he himself does. Still, he burrows himself deeper into Aaron's arms until Harry's practically in his lap. Harry doesn't know how long they stay in that position, chests heaving together and warm breaths mingling, but Harry eventually starts pulling away when he sees his mom's face in the back of his eyelids. Dread twists in his stomach at the thought of something happening to his mom just because he couldn't answer a call from Logan or go back to the apartment as soon as he was able to.

"I really need to go," Harry says once he's pulled away enough to look at Aaron's face. The older man's eyebrows are furrowed as he wipes away the tears on Harry's cheeks with his thumb. 

"I can't let you go knowing you're not safe."

"You don't understand," Harry sniffles. "You can't—there's nothing you can do. They're gonna—" Harry cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I need to go back. I have to protect my mom and sister."

"Protect them from who?" 

Harry stares at a coffee stain on Aaron's shirt, biting his lip. He's never told anyone about his situation before, especially not a uni student who could so easily get dragged into this mess. Still, the truth makes its way out of Harry's mouth in a whisper. "They won't hurt them if I cooperate." 

Harry catches the slight tremble in Aaron's hand as he takes Harry's own and squeezes. "Cooperate how?"

Harry shakes his head and looks away. "Doesn't matter. That's our deal and I'm not breaking it. I won't."

"If they're threatening your family to force you into doing something, we can go to the police—"

"No cops," Harry says hurriedly, his breath hitching. "I've tried it before. They'll know."

A knock on the door makes Harry jump so hard he lands about a foot away from Aaron on the floor. 

"That's probably just Steven," Aaron says, standing up when Harry does. "I can tell him to go somewhere else—"

"No, don't," Harry says. "I'll just, um. I'll be in the bathroom."

Aaron looks reluctant to let go of him, but he just nods and waits until Harry's in the bathroom before he goes to unlock the front door. Harry finds his coat on the hook behind the bathroom door and puts it on. He stands in front of the sink for a second, his eyes gliding over his bruised neck before he turns away and fiddles with his flip phone. He knows that Logan's absolutely fuming right now, especially since he can't reach Harry because his phone is dead and Aaron probably doesn't even have a charger for the outdated model of his flip phone either, so Harry really has to go back to the apartment before Logan takes his anger out on Harry's mom with no warning. Once again, the thought of his mother in danger makes his blood run cold.

He opens the bathroom door just a tiny bit until he can hear a pair of hushed voices from the living room. He can't make out their words, but he doesn't have to because he knows they're talking about him. The odd, suspicious kid with a secret. Harry can see the front door just a few steps down the hall from the bathroom. He steps out of the bathroom and hastily puts on a random pair of shoes by the door. 

There's a moment of hesitation when he wonders if Aaron actually could help him. He's afraid of what Logan will do to him this time around. He wonders what will become of his mother if Logan ends up murdering him. In a flash of dizzying panic, Harry grabs a napkin from the bathroom and finds a pen in the key bowl by the door. He hastily scribbles _Amanda Suarez HPRC_ and leaves the note there.

He slips out of Aaron's apartment without another word and doesn't stop half-running until he's a few blocks away from Aaron's building. He wraps his arms around himself as his teeth chatter and surges forward, praying all the way back that Mom and Gemma are still safe.

It's the memory of Aaron's warmth against his body that keeps him going.

×××

Harry's entire body is trembling by the time he makes it back to Logan's apartment. With his heart in his throat, he raises his fist to knock, but the door sways open slightly when he touches it and familiar voices slip through the small opening, making him freeze in his spot.

"Kent's been taken to the police station," Ricky says.

There's a beat of silence, and then Logan's voice sounds carefully controlled when he says, "How the fuck did that happen?"

"Shit went south. There were cops in the area when we got there. That Styles bitch is more prepared than we expected, I'll even bet she was expecting us."

Harry sucks in a breath. They're talking about Gemma.

"So," Logan's voice is low and unsettlingly calm, "not only did you fuck up to take her, but one of you got _arrested_?"

"Kent's got a bad knee and couldn't outrun the pigs—"

"That kid is going to rat us out, you fucking realize that?"

"He's not. That cop Carter's gonna look out for us as usual—"

There's a loud thump, making Harry flinch. "Shut the _fuck_ up. We don't have a cop on our payroll anymore since that fucker Carter blew his cover last week, nobody's gonna cover for him if he slips up. They're not gonna release that kid unless we have someone inside, which we don't anymore, fucking _moron_."

"I'll get Kent out of there, alright? I'll find another cop to work for us!"

The voices drift in and out of focus as Harry's head spins. _They tried kidnapping Gemma but failed. Now one of them was captured and they're worried it might blow up this entire operation. Gemma is safe._

He's too lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't hear the approaching footsteps until the door swings open and Logan is standing right in front of him, his eyes thunderous.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he seethes.

"I—" Harry doesn't get to talk, because Logan is immediately clutching him by his shirt collar and dragging him into the apartment. Ricky is standing by the window with a cigarette hanging from his lips, looking as anxious as he sounded earlier.

The door slams loudly behind him. Harry takes a shaky breath as he looks up at Aaron.

"You've been talking to your sister, haven't you?"

"No," Harry says immediately, panic clouding his brain. "No, I promise I—"

The hit comes before he can prepare for it. Harry stumbles back and clutches his throbbing jaw, his heart thumping in his chest. Logan slams him against the wall, his eyes blazing as he grits out, "After all I've done for you…"

"Logan," Harry cries, trying to touch him in anyway he can, in ways he knows will soften Logan's glare, but the older man merely slaps his hands away. "I _promise_ I didn't—"

"Your sister was expecting trouble, that's why she was prepared. You went behind my back and _warned_ her. You've lied to me so many times now. I'm a fucking idiot for ever trusting you. You were so good, Harry. You just had to fuck it up," Logan hisses, grabbing his face harshly with one hand as he leans in to whisper feverishly, "I'm going to chain you in the whorehouse if that's what it takes to shut you up and teach you a lesson. See how you like it back there."

"No," Harry gasps, shaking his head. He can't go through that _again_. "Logan, please—"

"Ricky," Logan says, his hard gaze never leaving Harry, "put him with the others. Don't let him out until we figure this shit out."

" _No!"_ Harry cries, but Ricky's already walking forward and gripping him by the arm. Logan's jaw is clenched and he's looking at Harry with a mix of disgust and disappointment, but beyond everything, _rage_. Harry would take a punch any day over that, because at least before, he could say that Logan pitied him at the very least and gave Harry the smallest bit of freedom that the prostitutes at the whorehouse can only dream of, but now Harry's fucked that up as well.

"Don't come crawling back to me, Harry!" Logan bellows.

Harry's chest is tight and his vision is blurry as Ricky drags him out of the apartment. Harry catches one last glimpse of Logan's blazing gaze before the door slams shut in his face. Harry's crying quietly the entire way to the car while Ricky threatens that he'll fuck him up so bad if he doesn't shut up. When they're in Ricky's car, Harry stares out the window and mourns for the smallest sliver of freedom he'd managed to get himself under Logan, but now, even that is gone.

Ricky starts up the car and Harry watches the buildings and stores zip past them. He sniffles and swallows the lump in his throat, telling himself that this is better than Gemma or his mom getting hurt. When he looks back out the window, his breath catches in his throat.

Aaron's car is parked by the convenience store that they always meet up at. He's still wearing the same clothes he was this morning, except with a cotton jacket and a pair of converse. He's standing by the shop entrance with his phone pressed to his ear, and Harry gets a feeling that his flip phone would be ringing right now if its battery hadn't been drained. As if feeling someone's gaze on him, Aaron looks up and meets Harry's eyes across the street.

The light turns green and the last thing he sees of Aaron is the older man mouthing his name, eyes urgent and worried as he makes a move as if to run after them, while Ricky takes him away for good.

Harry watches his figure disappear into the distance. Tears fill his eyes despite the fact that he's always known that it was going to end up this way.

×××

Days pass by excruciatingly slow in the whorehouse. Harry's room is a small box with a tiny window nearly pressed against the ceiling. The bed sheets are rough and filled with permanent stains that no detergent seems to be able to get rid of. His clients are faceless men of different sizes but similarly rough, sweaty hands that grab at every inch of his skin while he stares up at the small window above where the slightest bit of sunlight pours through and waits for it to end.

Harry's not sure if he's been here for a week or a whole month, but everything feels sluggish and murky, as though his brain had been dipped underwater. He's barely given any food or any time to rest before the next customer comes in.

In the small cramped space of his room that reeks of sweat and sex, he thinks of Gemma and his mom and prays every night that they're safe. He thinks of Logan and wishes that he'd take Harry back and trust him once again like he did before so he can get whatever illusion of freedom he had before back. He thinks of Aaron and his worried face, his easy and kind smile, his warm lips and hands. He hopes Aaron has stopped worrying about him by now and is living his best life.

He floats and drowns, a never-ending cycle. This time around, he's accepted that this is his reality. No more play-pretends and double lives. No more daydreaming of his ideal self and fantasies. 

With a defeated sense of acceptance, he embraces it, finally. Just the ugly truth alone—nothing more.


	11. Chapter 11

**PART II**

Graduation day is in a few weeks. Aaron's been busy with work and cramming final papers and assignments for the last few weeks. He used to tell himself that he would make the most out of his last few months of being in university, but it's quite impossible to do when he's running on three hours of sleep every day. 

Steven is a terrible roommate and does absolutely nothing to help keep their apartment clean. There's a week's worth of take-out boxes on the coffee table and twice the amount in the kitchen. Their laundry baskets are overflowing like miniature versions of the smoky mountain, and he has caught Steven wearing Aaron's shirt several times now—shirts even he isn't sure were clean.

Overall, it's a disaster. Aaron barely gets to talk to his mom like they usually do every weekend. His little sister Cindy has been sending him pictures of her in her ballet outfit and Aaron could only exchange a few, one-line texts with her before he has to put his phone away and go back to his blank word document staring at him from his laptop screen. The only time he gets proper food in him is when Tommy takes pity on them and lets them eat a sandwich at the café free of charge. Still, despite the last few weeks being absolutely hectic, Aaron wouldn't change it for the world.

It's mid-February, meaning they're in that awkward stage of kind-of winter but almost-spring. The sky overhead is clear and bright as Aaron steps out of his apartment building after three days of being locked in there. He needs sunlight so badly and he knows he should get around to making a schedule and actually following it so he can jog in the morning and accomplish his tasks later that day, but alas, Aaron has never been one for time management. In high school, his mantra was always to "wing-it" and hope for the best. He's improved the tiniest bit since then (because now at least he actually studies his course syllabus and does advanced reading and all that shit, stuff he thought were things that only nerds did when he was in high school) and clearly it did him well because in a few weeks time he's going to leave university for good and accept his civil engineering diploma.

He walks to Caffeinated, greeting the old lady who works at the bakery along the way, and stuffs his hands into his coat pocket. He's had a relatively decent sleep—five hours, that's a new record—and he's had coffee and a proper breakfast. His body is very thankful for that and he feels like he can take on the world.

"Good morning fellas," Aaron greets as soon as he steps into the café. The place is filled with a decent amount of people, though not as many people as there was during finals week. Technically, it still is finals week, but like Aaron, most of the students have probably finished the better portion of their requirements and are probably spending more time finally sleeping than pulling all-nighters.

"Hey, mate. How's it going?" Tommy is mopping up a wet spot near the entrance, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Alright. I could use a cup of coffee though."

Tommy hums without looking at him. "Go and buy one, then."

Aaron sighs dramatically as he approaches the counter. "What does a man have to do around here to get some free coffee?"

"Pay," Tommy says simply.

Aaron chuckles and joins Casey at the other side of the counter. She's leaning against the marble top texting on her phone, only nodding at Aaron once to acknowledge his arrival. Aaron goes to the backroom and hangs his coat, picking up his apron from the cabinet and putting it on. He fixes his hair in the mirror—he should probably get it cut now since it's getting quite thick around the nape of his neck—before walking back to the counter and occupying his spot behind the cashier.

"Did Steven tell you about tonight?" Casey asks him as she's handing over change to an old man.

"Tell me what?"

"He got us a gig, but it's so last minute that we're not even sure if everyone's free. Tommy says he can make time for it, but how about you? Can you clear your schedule?"

"I'll have to ask my secretary first, then I'll get back to you," Aaron says. At Casey's exasperated eye roll, Aaron continues with a laugh, "Alright, I guess I can. I finished my final project last night and I only have about two more non-major requirements to cram, so I'm fine with the gig."

"Great. We're staying out late, by the way. You all have been cranky for way too long. Time to get loose," she says, wiggling her eyebrows.

Aaron's always up for a night out despite his lack of sleep and sore muscles from sitting at his desk for too long. He's surprised he hasn't failed anything yet, especially from the amount of times he's gone to school with a hangover and puke-covered shoes. 

They work throughout the day, accommodating the steady stream of customers. Every time the bell above the door sounds, he looks up and expects a certain face to show up. He's disappointed every time.

It must show on his face, because Casey turns to him with a frown. "You okay?"

Aaron waves her off. "Yeah. Just—the usual. You know me, Aaron-the-worry-wart."

"Ah." She follows Aaron's gaze and watches the door as a mother and three small children enter. "You still haven't heard from him?"

Aaron shakes his head. It's been more than a month since he's last seen Harry. He remembers it so clearly—the younger boy's tear-streaked face in the passenger seat. When Aaron realized that Harry sneaked out of his apartment that day he found him shivering in his coat and his skin mottled with bruises, Aaron immediately ran to his car and hoped he'd find Harry in the area. Harry never told him where he lived and only ever made him drop him off or pick him up from that convenience store, so that's where Aaron went. He tried calling Harry but he couldn't reach his phone. And then he saw Harry in some man's car looking worse for wear, eyes so dull and skin so pale. Aaron tried following them in his car but the traffic was too heavy and he managed to lose them only a few blocks down.

That's the last time he saw Harry, and since then, it's been radio silence. On days when Aaron tries to convince himself that Harry probably just went on a trip and that he was only overthinking, he'd be reminded of every single darkening wound he found on Harry's body, or the way he flinches from loud voices and looks at people with those big, terrified eyes. He had looked at Aaron like that too, and it broke his heart. Anyone could tell that the younger boy was going through some shit, and fuck, Aaron was so ready to help him. He was willing to miss every single class he had left just to solve this mystery and get Harry to a place where he wouldn't have to curl in on himself or hide his bruises. Aaron's no hero but he was _human_ , and any decent human would want to help a person as sweet and kind as Harry.

Yet, here he is, a month and a half later, and he's no closer to figuring out what Harry's going through than he was when he first saw the signs of abuse on the boy when they first met. He never found out Harry's last name. All he knows is that Harry also went to Holton University and took up Journalism. From the looks of it, though, he probably dropped out because Aaron has asked Journalism majors around about him and they could never provide him with an answer. Some even told him that they'd never met a "curly-haired Harry" at all.

"He'll turn up," Casey tells him. "He seems like a smart kid. Whatever he's going through—just know that you offered him help, yeah? And if he walks through those doors one day, we're going to give him whatever he needs, no questions asked."

"I know." Aaron sighs. He scrubs a palm down his face. "I just—God, if I'd known he was going to disappear like that, I would have never let him leave the apartment."

"You tried what you could," she says. "Plus, he knows how to reach you, right? He has your number. He knows where you live. Maybe...maybe it's not as bad as you think? Maybe he's found a way out of that situation already and is enjoying a vacation in the Bahamas."

It's easy for Casey to say that stuff because she didn't see Harry the way Aaron did. He was always so tentative and soft-spoken, and while Aaron originally thought that he was just shy and introverted, his opinion immediately changed when he noticed a lot of other suspicious things, and especially after that night he called Aaron crying and voiceless. Harry looked so small curled up behind a garbage bin, wrapped up in nothing but a coat, neck and wrists bruised—

Aaron shakes his head as though to clear his thoughts. There's no use doing this now. He already tortured himself during the weeks that immediately followed Harry's sudden disappearance. Right now, he's not helping anyone by stressing over it.

"You went to the police, right? I mean, that's the best any of us can do," Casey says.

About three days after Aaron last saw him, he tried to go to the police for help. It was a fruitless attempt because he didn't have any information on Harry aside from his first name and his appearance. Since Harry's not a minor, he was told that Harry most probably just "left with some friends" and that he was worrying over nothing. Aaron knew that it was a useless attempt, but it was an attempt nonetheless.

Aaron sighs. "I guess."

"We'll see him again, yeah? Watch him be all tanned and halfway-blonde the next time he shows up and tells us he was just on vacation on a beach."

Aaron smiles tightly. "Yeah. That would be nice."

"It sure would."

Aaron tries to forget about the boy with the curls for the next few hours. He finishes his shift at the café before returning to their apartment to send out an email to his professor, and then he's getting ready for their gig. He puts on a faded band t-shirt and jeans before walking to the living room to find Steven already sprawled on the couch, dressed and ready to go.

"How are your job applications going?" Aaron asks him as they lock their door and walk down the hallway.

Steven looks fashionably disheveled in a way that only he could, with his messy red hair and oddly chosen combination of clothes (a muscle shirt, khakis, crocs with socks and a stupid-looking bucket hat). He doesn't really pull it off but he doesn't look as weird as the next guy would if they wore it.

"It's going alright, my dad thinks I should look for jobs outside the city, so I did just to shut him up. But I'd much rather stay here, you know? Moving is such a hassle," Steven says, holding the door open for him as they step out into the cold night and walk towards the parking lot.

Steven is an Information and Technology major and despite what most people would think, he's the smartest of the bunch. He has great marks and experience because his father has connections with telecommunication companies and that alone will already give him a head start in job hunting. Aaron isn't even thinking about serious jobs right now because he still has to take his Civil Engineering licensure exam, but in the meantime, he's thinking of working full-time at the café so he can still pay for his bills and rent.

"You've always wanted an apartment for yourself, though," Aaron points out as they find their van. Aaron takes the driver's seat and Steven sits beside him.

"Yeah. But I don't think I can ever live alone."

"Those are two very contradicting statements."

Steven sighs. "I'm just saying—yeah it's nice to have a place of my own, but I can never keep shit tidy, you know?"

"Ever heard of hiring a maid?"

"I'm going to need to _pay_ a maid," Steven says with a raised eyebrow.

Aaron huffs out a laugh. "You are impossible."

Thankfully, the traffic is bearable and they manage to pick up Casey and Tommy just on time. The couple is red-cheeked and grinning wide as they hop onto the seats in the back, greeting them happily. Aaron has a moment of sappiness and wonders if this is one of the last times he'll get to play with the band. They're actual grown-ups now with serious careers to think about. He remembers the time when the band used to be the biggest thing in all of their lives, but looking at them now, they look like a mismatch of people with different dreams and talents. While they still share their love for music, it's not their main priority anymore, and that's fine. Aaron was never naive enough to think that they could make a living out of playing gigs across the city—it was just a temporary outlet of their passion.

They arrive at the venue and set up the stage. They've played here before—it's a decent-sized pub that serves amazing mac & cheese. The tables are filled with people and Aaron is hyped to play for them tonight. They're going to play five songs—three covers and two originals, they decided—since there will be other performers after them. Aaron takes his spot behind the drum set, the band waiting for his cue before diving into their first song of the night.

Like every gig, it's exhilarating. Aaron loves to see the crowd mouthing back the lyrics at them, and during their performances of original songs, he sees them bobbing their heads along to the beat, eyes bright with the stage lights reflecting off them. It seems like forever ago, but he remembers when he brought Harry to one of their gigs. The boy looked so content as he flailed his long arms in the air and danced those silly dad-moves as they played. Aaron's cheeks hurt from smiling that night. 

When their set ends, the crowd gives them a round of applause. A few people come up to them to compliment them on their performance while a few not-so-subtly tries to hit on him. He turns them down with an easy smile since he plans to spend tonight with his friends.

They occupy the stools at the bar and ask the bartender for some drinks. Aaron lets Steven order for him ("don't forget the mac and cheese!") while he leans on the bartop to try and hear what Tommy and Casey are saying, since Aaron is sitting farthest from them with Steven between him and the couple. A bartender brings them their order—one whose wide grin and glinting eyes have become familiar to them from all the gigs they've done here.

"You guys were great," the bartender says as he hands over their order.

Aaron takes a sip of beer and joins the chorus of "thank you's" with the rest of his band. 

"Busy night?" Aaron asks.

"Yeah. The usual for a Friday. The bands pull in a bunch of regulars, actually. Especially your band," the bartender says.

"Growing a fanbase, then," Steven says, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's the plan," Tommy says with a laugh.

Hours later and they're stumbling to their van. On their way back, Tommy takes the wheel since he's had the least to drink. Aaron doesn't remember much as he and Steven practically crawl to their apartment and collapse into their respective beds, Aaron's eyelids already half-closed before his head could hit the pillow.

×××

Aaron wakes up to a stray sock hitting his face. He groans, wincing at the sunlight pouring in through the blinds. Of course, Steven is up. He's cursing under his breath as he pulls on a pair of trousers, his hair slightly damp from what Aaron guesses was a quick shower.

"You in a hurry?" Aaron croaks out.

Steven doesn't look at him as he puts on an un-ironed button-up. "I have to meet Dad in fifteen minutes. He's gonna fucking kill me."

Aaron watches him with mild amusement as he rushes around the room to gather his things and put on his shoes, nearly tumbling to the ground in his haste. Aaron's laughing by the time Steven makes it to the door, hair still a mess but his clothes presentable enough.

"Stop laughing and fucking pray for me!" Steven calls out before slamming the door shut as he leaves. Aaron can hear his hurried footsteps down the hall, until he's far enough that Aaron is left with the apartment's quiet once again.

He pulls himself out of bed and forces himself to clean the place as best as he can—picking up clothes off the floor and putting them in the laundry basket, throwing out expired milk and eggs in the fridge, clearing out their dining table and coffee table. He's cleaning his bedside table and getting rid of random receipts and loose change in the drawers when his eyes catch a piece of tissue paper that he kept under his watch all those weeks ago. He sighs and sits down on his bed, taking it in his hands.

_Amanda Suarez HPRC_

It's Harry's handwriting. A mysterious name and initials he left behind before sneaking out of Aaron's apartment and disappearing with no warning whatsoever. Aaron's always prided himself in his gut instincts—and no matter how Casey and Steven tried to influence him with their optimism regarding Harry, Aaron knew that there was much more going on. The signs were always there—the bruises, the flinches, the trembling hands. The aggressive, threatening text messages from his roommate that Aaron accidentally read. Aaron just thought he had more time to make Harry open up to him so he can help him get out of whatever situation he's stuck in. But here he is now, staring at a note Harry left behind, not having seen him for months.

Aaron's looked up the name Amanda Suarez, of course. There were thousands of people with that name. Aaron didn't even know who Amanda could be and why it's the name Harry chose to write down. Either way, his attempts to decode whatever this note is supposed to say remains fruitless. He keeps it close to him, though. Keeps the name in the back of his mind in case he hears it somewhere and it all suddenly makes sense. He keeps the frail piece of tissue paper, as well, because it holds Harry's hasty but neat handwriting.

God did he miss him.

Aaron would never say it out loud. His friends all think he and Harry were nothing serious—just a pair of guys starting to know each other and going out on dates. And they're right, of course. But that doesn't mean that Aaron doesn't care as much as he does and that he doesn't miss seeing the emeralds of Harry's eyes, his dimpled smile, or feeling the warmth of Harry's pink lips against his own.

Despite the short amount of time they've spent together, Aaron feels connected to him in a way he never felt towards other boys he was romantically interested in. No, with Harry, he stays up at night and reads through their text messages. He stares at that one selfie they have together with the band. He imagines his phone ringing in the middle of the night and hearing Harry's deep voice on the other line, asking for Aaron to pick him up from somewhere. Aaron wouldn't think twice before dropping everything and making sure he makes it there immediately. Wherever. He cares about him that much.

Aaron shakes his head and runs a palm down his face. He returns the note back where he found it and goes to the bathroom for a quick, hot shower. He feels a bit like a robot as he gets dressed and walks down his usual route as he makes his way to the café. The sky seems dimmer than usual, but Aaron convinces himself that it's just because of the possible rain.

In the café, Aaron tries his best to smile wide at the customers and keep up with Casey's chatter, but his slight hangover isn't helping at all. When there's a break in the surge of customers, he goes through the backroom and takes the backdoor, leaning against the brickwall as he takes a deep breath.

"Want one?"

His head snaps to the side in surprise. Leaning against the wall on the other side of the door is Raymond, a dishwasher Tommy hired about three weeks ago. He's a few years older than Aaron and he's quite reserved, though nice enough to greet everyone when they bump into each other in the shop. Raymond is offering him a cigarette as one hangs from his own lips, and while Aaron would usually turn it down for the sake of his lungs, he finds himself reaching across the space between them and plucking one from the cigarette pack. Raymond hands him a lighter as well. They're quiet as they smoke, Aaron watching the white puffs swirl upwards into the air.

"Thanks," Aaron says belatedly.

"No problem. It can get pretty stressful, I know the feeling," Raymond mumbles.

Aaron hums, then arches his eyebrow curiously. "What are you doing these days?"

"Nothing crazy, just moving in and all that. Landlady seems to hate us and our furniture has yet to arrive. My girlfriend and I sleep on the ground on a mattress left behind by the last tenant," Raymond says with a depreciating laugh.

"Well, if your moving truck does arrive and you need help bringing them in, come tell us, yeah? Me and the boys would love to help."

The thankful look Raymond throws him makes his day a little brighter. "Thanks, man. I'll hold you onto that."

Later, when his shift has ended, Aaron finds himself taking a different route home. He walks to the convenience store where he and Harry always met up at. Aaron suspects he lives a few blocks down in one of the red-bricked apartment buildings. He's spent a lot of time wondering why Harry always seemed so cautious to let Aaron know where he lived. At first Aaron thought Harry probably just had trust issues and that he wasn't comfortable with people knowing his home, which is understandable. Eventually, he wondered if perhaps Harry was hiding Aaron _from_ someone. 

That's one of his biggest regrets—guessing and wondering without actually asking. If he asked the right question at the right time, Harry might've answered and opened up to him. 

If Aaron did things differently, Harry wouldn't have disappeared into thin air.


	12. Chapter 12

Four years of sleepless nights and lukewarm coffee and salty tears has led them all to one place—the stage in the university auditorium. The seats are filled with family members and friends applauding for hours straight as each student accepted their diplomas onstage and shook their Dean's hand. Aaron grins wide at the camera as the flash went off, and somewhere towards the side, he can hear his mother and Cindy clapping and whooping loudly. Aaron directs his grin to them as he walks down the stage and returns to his seat.

Once the ceremony is over, Aaron's coursemates and friends all gather at the side, talking about going out for drinks to celebrate. Aaron turns them down with a soft smile, saying he'll be spending the night with his family. They all exchange hugs and pats on the back until Aaron finally escapes the crowd and throws himself into his mother's arms while Cindy squeezes herself between their chests, giggling.

"Congratulations, we're so proud of you," Mom says, kissing both his cheeks. Her eyes look bright and slightly glassy as she grins.

"Thanks Mom," Aaron says. He looks down at Cindy with a raised eyebrow. "What about you? You got a gift for me or something?"

Cindy pretends to think for a moment, then says, "Having me as your little sister is the greatest gift ever."

Aaron rolls his eyes while Mom snorts. He ruffles her hair and ignores her squawk of protest ("Aaron, my _braids!")_ and says, "You are so cheesy."

"You love it!"

Cindy might be a decade younger than him, but she sure knows how to keep a banter going. He laughs and drags them out of the auditorium, already cursing inwardly as there surely will be traffic.

Originally, Aaron tried getting a reservation to a fancy Italian place which was about a thirty-minute drive away from campus, but when that didn't work out as planned, they decided to eat at whatever food chain they saw first as they drove. They find themselves seated in one of McDonald's booths, and while the place is quite packed and noisy, none of them complained as they ate their favorite junk food. 

Mom asks a waiter to snap a picture of the three of them. As the flash goes off, Cindy wipes a ketchup-covered finger on his cheek, laughing breathlessly. Aaron dips his finger in an ice cream and gives her a mustache as revenge. Their mother crosses her arms over her chest, feigning annoyance, but anyone can see the upward tilt of her lips.

Overall, graduation day wasn't so bad at all.

×××

"Are you sure he gave the right address?" Steven says from behind the wheel, frowning as he looks down at his phone.

Aaron's sitting beside him as the van surges forward into an unfamiliar street. Tommy is seated at the back, looking bored as he taps on his phone (no doubt texting Casey who's out of town and couldn't be with them now) while he and Steven are beginning to panic that they're lost for good.

"Yeah, that's what he gave." Aaron sighs and pulls out his phone from his pocket while Steven curses loudly when he nearly runs a cat over. "Here, let me call him."

Raymond didn't forget about his offer of them helping him unpack his things into his new apartment. Last night he gave Aaron a call (he probably got Aaron's number from Tommy) and asked if they were free tomorrow since the moving truck was supposed to arrive then. He said there would also be a housewarming party of some sort at the end of the day, and the promise of food was enough to drag Steven into it, while Tommy readily agreed to help regardless.

"We've been going in circles for, like, half an hour," Steven grumbles.

Aaron raises a finger to quiet him down when Raymond picks up after four rings. "Hello?"

"Hey, Raymond. We're on our way to your place—but I think we're lost. Can you help us out?" Aaron says, sighing when he recognizes a grocery store that they already passed earlier.

Luckily, Raymond is a great help. It only takes them ten minutes to finally pull up in front of an apartment building after following Raymond's directions. They hop off the van, and Raymond emerges from the door with a grin.

"Hey, thanks for coming," Raymond says. He's wearing a plain white shirt and cotton shorts. Aaron regrets wearing his stiff jeans as it would be difficult to carry stuff and move around, but oh well.

"No problem man."

Raymond leads them up four flights of stairs. Aaron's legs are already aching at the thought of carrying furniture to the fourth floor. They arrive at a small but cozy apartment—it's basically a box with a single room and a bathroom at the side, with a sink and a marble counter pressed against the opposite wall. Raymond wasn't lying when he said they had absolutely no furniture yet—there are luggage on the floor with paper plates on them as though they're makeshift tables. Their footsteps echo slightly as they walk into the room. Raymond offers them some beer from a small cooler in the corner and they all sit down on the floor and take a sip.

"You live here alone?" Steven asks.

Raymond shakes his head. "My girlfriend stays here, but she won't be back until later tonight."

"What time is the moving truck gonna arrive?" Aaron asks. Mom and Cindy slept at his apartment last night and he still plans to go out with them, perhaps to do some quick shopping or even visit the arcade for Cindy's sake. He hopes to go back to them before dark.

As if on cue, Raymond's phone starts ringing, and it turns out to be one of the movers, saying that they're already along the street and ready to park. For the next few hours, they go up and down the stairs repeatedly, carrying boxes and wooden furniture with each other's help. Steven quite literally almost died twice, almost slipping on the stairs and tumbling to his death, but luckily, Tommy caught him both of those times and now demands that Steven buy him free lunch as he just saved his life. Aaron rolls his eyes at their ridiculousness and even Raymond looks amused. 

They take a break during lunch and eat some store-bought sandwiches before resuming. By the end of it, the back of Aaron's shirt is slick with sweat, his mouth dry from exhaustion and muscles sore. They press the boxes against the wall to make space for the furniture—there's not much, just a couch, a coffee table, a small circular dining table with foldable chairs, a wooden bed frame, bedside tables, and a closet. It fills up the cozy space well enough.

"What made you move into the city?" Aaron asks. It's about half an hour later since they've finished carrying the final box into the apartment. The three of them are on the couch while Raymond sits on one of the foldable chairs. There's a pizza box on the coffee table between them, which they're in the process of wolfing down.

"We always planned to come back here, we were just waiting for the right time. This is where my girlfriend used to live. We sped up the moving process because we had other business to attend to, that's why we arrived weeks earlier than expected. We packed up our stuff kind of late, which is why our furniture is only just arriving."

"Seems like a peaceful area to be honest, you picked the place well," Steven muses as he makes a show of looking around the apartment and peeking out the window facing the street.

Raymond smiles. "Yeah. There's also a playground in the nearby park. Great for kids."

Aaron raises an eyebrow. "Got any kids to bring there?"

"I have a daughter," Raymond says proudly, eyes bright. "She's not here with us yet. We've left her with some friends we trust back home just until their school year ends. After, she'll be moving here, too."

Steven whoops while Tommy and Aaron congratulate him. It's odd to think that people around Aaron's age already have families and kids to raise, when in Aaron's case, he feels barely out of his training wheels. He's spent his whole life studying and following a path with a definite goal—graduating university and getting his bachelors degree—and now that he's reached that goal, he feels adrift and aimless. Practically, he knows he needs to earn his engineering licensure by passing the licensure exam, and only then can he actually start his career as a civil engineer. He doesn't even know if he wants to take Mom's advice and go back home for the meantime or stay in the city and work a few jobs to cover his rent and expenses while he prepares for the exam.

He whips his head up when he realizes that Steven's been snapping his fingers in front of his face. "What?"

"I _said_ , we should help Raymond unpack the boxes and stuff. It's still quite early," Steven says.

Aaron looks out the window, and sure enough, it's still bright out. So, he nods and gets up.

Raymond unboxes a vinyl player and puts on a Fleetwood Mac record, letting the music fill the busy silence in the room. Aaron falters a bit as he's opening up a box when he remembers that time he got Harry cassette records of several artists including Fleetwood Mac for Christmas. God, that feels like ages ago. He shakes his head and smiles ruefully at the box in front of him, his throat getting tight from the memory.

Harry was so surprised when he pulled out that gift. Like he genuinely couldn't believe that someone would get him anything. He still remembers Harry's rosy cheeks and red nose from the cold, as well as those times when they shared Aaron's airpods and listened to his playlists. He remembers Harry's mouth moving along with the lyrics, the way his long eyelashes fanned over his skin, and the dazzling green of his eyes.

"Alright there?" Tommy appears beside him, patting his back.

"Yup," Aaron keeps his head down and hums along to the song playing. The box he opened has a lot of stationary materials and books inside, so he takes them out and stacks them in the corner.

He can feel Tommy watching the side of his face, but thankfully, he doesn't comment on Aaron's sudden mellow mood and just helps him unpack the box. At one point, Steven breaks a vase ("I thought it was plastic! I'm so sorry!") and Raymond leaves the apartment to pick up his order from a Chinese place down the street to prepare for when his girlfriend returns home. 

Aaron's on his phone texting his mother that he'll be home in about an hour or two and they can still go out for dinner when Steven curses loudly from the bathroom, followed by the sound of several objects tumbling to the ground.

"For fuck's sake," Tommy grumbles and stalks off to the bathroom, where Aaron can hear Steven saying something about the shelves not being screwed properly. He rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh—Steven's always been a klutz, god only knows how many plates and glasses he's broken within the last four years they've lived together—and takes over the box that Tommy was previously working on.

It's a bunch of framed pictures in bubble wrap. Aaron smiles idly as he takes them out, finding Raymond's family staring back at him. He puts them on the coffee table, catching glimpses of little kids with dark hair—probably Raymond's little siblings or cousins—who definitely look like miniature versions of him with their big brown eyes and olive-colored skin.

There's a smaller frame with Raymond and a girl; they're standing in front of a Christmas tree, their faces alight with Christmas lights and bright smiles. Even if they weren't holding hands in the picture, Aaron would've still known that they're a couple. This must be the girlfriend Raymond's been mentioning. She's a pretty woman with dark long hair and pale skin, her eyes twinkling in the picture.

He puts the picture frame on top of the others and reaches for another one. He nearly drops the frame when he turns to look at it.

"What—?" he mutters to himself, mind whirring as he stares at what seems to be a family picture—except this one isn't Raymond's. It's Raymond's girlfriend, an older woman who could be her mother, and a young boy who Aaron would recognize no matter what— _Harry_.

It's _Harry._

"I'm back!" Raymond says, followed by the door slamming shut. Aaron remains frozen in his spot on the couch, his eyes never leaving the picture frame in his hands.

"Your shelf collapsed, it wasn't my fault!" Steven yells from the bathroom.

Raymond chuckles. "It's fine, don't worry. Come out here guys, I'd like to introduce you to Gemma."

Tommy and Steven walk back into the living room just as Aaron snaps his head up, heart thumping in his chest. His eyes land on a woman he didn't notice entered the apartment along with Raymond. She's the same girl from the picture—the girl who, now that Aaron can look closely at her wide eyes, straight nose, and shapely lips—is undoubtedly related to Harry.

"Gemma, this is Tommy, Steven, and Aaron. I work with them at the café. Everyone, this is Gemma, my girlfriend."

Gemma smiles at them, revealing her perfect rows of teeth and shakes their hands one by one. Up close, Aaron can see the dark bags that sit underneath her eyes.

"Thanks for helping out, boys. Are you hungry?" Gemma asks.

"We already ate, thank you, though. I think we're leaving soon anyway since Aaron still has to go to dinner with his family," Steven says, glancing at Aaron.

A few seconds too late, Aaron clears his throat. "Right, yeah. My mom and sister are waiting for me at our apartment."

"That's alright. Perhaps I'll take you boys out one of these days for a proper thank you," Gemma says, smiling amicably.

"No need for that—" Tommy starts with a shy smile.

"No, no. Attendance is a must," Gemma says, eyes twinkling slightly.

The conversation carries on and Aaron all but gapes at Gemma as he continues to grasp the picture frame in his hands. God—what are the odds that he'd meet Harry's relative? At the same time, Aaron feels relief flood through him at the thought of finally clearing up whatever has happened to Harry. Perhaps Gemma will tell him that Harry did just go on a vacation, or on some retreat where he had absolutely no communication with the outside world. Aaron can stop worrying every day about the boy. He can finally stop thinking about the worst possible scenarios Harry could've possibly caught himself in.

Perhaps, he'll even get to talk to Harry again through Gemma.

Aaron shakes his head. Once again, he's getting ahead of himself. Maybe there's a reason Harry suddenly stopped talking to him. He's not going to force himself into Harry's life if the younger boy doesn't want anything to do with him anymore, but at the very least, he needs to know that he's okay, and that Aaron's negative gut feelings are nothing but irrational fears.

"Let me help you with that."

Aaron startles as Gemma sits down on the couch beside him, taking the picture frame from his grip. She gives him a small smile. Tommy, Steven, and Raymond have migrated to the kitchen area and are raiding the cooler for more drinks.

Aaron feels like an idiot as he sits there, unsure of how to broach the topic. He just gives her a friendly nod before taking out the other picture frames from the box to busy himself.

"You must be tired from all that lifting, go join the boys and have a drink," Gemma tells him, nodding once towards the others.

Aaron smiles and shakes his head. "I'm fine. I've, uh, had quite a few drinks already."

"Hmm. Raymond tells me the lot of you have just graduated. Congratulations," Gemma says kindly.

"Thank you," Aaron says.

"Any plans now that you're free from school?"

"Still figuring that out," Aaron says with a laugh. "I'll figure it out eventually."

For a few moments, they sit there quietly and put all the picture frames on the coffee table. As the box is emptied, Aaron finds another picture of Harry—this one is just him by himself. He looks incredibly young here—his curls thicker and more pronounced than the flowy brown waves he has nowadays. His eyes are bright green, dimples on display as he grins at the camera. The picture seems to have been taken outside, with the sunlight hitting the side of his face just right, making his eyes look even more ethereal than it already is.

"That's my baby brother," Gemma says softly. Aaron awkwardly looks away from the picture, not realizing he's been caught staring.

"How is he?" Aaron blurts out.

Gemma doesn't seem to think the question is weird, though, as she simply takes the picture from him and looks down at it with a soft and almost melancholic smile. "Fine, I hope."

"I didn't know he had a sister," Aaron says clumsily. At Gemma's confused frown, he adds, "I met him a few months back when he was still studying at Holton University. Haven't spoken to him in a while, though. I also hope he's doing well."

The utter look of shock on Gemma's face makes Aaron freeze in his spot, wondering if he said something wrong.

"You—you met him? What? When?" Gemma's voice cracks, eyes wide. She clutches his arm. "How do you know Harry?"

Aaron tries and fails to speak for a few times Gemma looks about a second away from tears. Despite his confusion, he says, "Well, he used to go to the café to study there like most Holton students. We hung out for a while, but then we kind of lost contact…"

For every word that leaves his mouth, Gemma's eyes get progressively wetter until the first tear drops. 

"Is it—what's wrong?" Aaron manages, his confusion slowly being replaced by fear as Gemma pulls away from him and lets out a broken sob into her palms.

"What's going on, babe?" Raymond appears beside her, eyes flicking to Aaron questioningly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" Aaron starts.

"He knows Harry!" Gemma cries, clutching Raymond's shoulders. "Raymond—he can help us find him!"

Aaron is faintly aware of Tommy and Steven awkwardly hovering behind him, probably beyond confused by the entire situation. Aaron has barely processed Gemma's words before she's turning towards him again, her face streaked with tears. Except this time, she's smiling. She's giddy despite her tears, taking Aaron's hands in hers and looking at him like he has all the answers in the universe.

"Aaron, where is he? Where is Harry? Do you know where he lives?" Gemma cries, her hands trembling. "Please, you have to help us—"

"Babe, let's calm down, yeah?" Raymond says, gently clutching her sides. He looks shocked and slightly teary-eyed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "Aaron clearly doesn't know the entire situation. Let's explain—"

"He was taken," Gemma cuts him off, her lower lip trembling. Aaron's throat goes dry. "I haven't seen him since he was fourteen—I haven't talked to him or our mother for that long. Until recently when Raymond and I were planning to move back here and get in touch with them again when I realized there's no way to reach them. Our old house—" Gemma's face scrunches up, "—they haven't lived there for years apparently. I didn't know how to get to them. Then I got a very suspicious call from Harry and he sounded like he was in trouble. We hired a private investigator and—"

Gemma doesn't finish her sentence. She breaks out into a loud sob. Raymond pulls her into his chest and rubs her back. 

"I think we'll go ahead now," Tommy says quietly, giving Raymond and Aaron a sad smile. "Everything's gonna work out in the end, yeah?"

Steven pats his back and whispers something to Raymond as they walk past. Aaron is grateful that his friends know when to give people the privacy they need. His two friends quietly slip out the door while Gemma continues to cry into Raymond's chest. Aaron allows himself a moment to breathe and absorb everything Gemma has just told him even though none of it makes that much sense yet. Except from the fact that Gemma has hired a private investigator to _find_ Harry. His guess is that there was a serious feud between the siblings that made Harry cut all connections with her, but then he's taken back to the last night he saw Harry and how Harry refused his help, claiming that there's nothing he can do.

"He told me he was doing it to protect you and your mom," Aaron hears himself say as he replays that night in his head—Harry curled up in his arms, face streaked with tears and bruises, all trembling bones and wild eyes. Aaron's not naïve enough to believe that this is all just a family feud—or that Harry voluntarily chose to hide away from his own family.

Gemma sniffles. She slowly lifts her head from Raymond's chest and stares straight ahead at the wall. It takes Aaron a second to realize that it's anger he's seeing in her eyes now.

"That's what they want him to believe," Gemma says shakily. "That's how they make him obey. That's—" Gemma lets out a breath. He turns to Aaron, smiling sadly. "I know you're confused right now. I'm sorry I'm a mess but—fuck, you're not lying to me, are you? Because if it's true that you did know him or even spoke to him once or twice, you'll be of _big_ help. Will you do that?" Gemma takes his hands again, tightly gripping them. Her voice cracks as she asks, "Will you help me find my baby brother?"

Tears build up in his eyes, making his vision blurry. He squeezes Gemma's hands, his chest feeling heavy. He's barely scratched the surface of Harry's situation, yet he already knows it's a serious one. It involves someone as kind and innocent as Harry being ripped away from his family. Forcefully kept. Aaron has always suspected that there was a much darker story behind Harry's bruises and terrified eyes, but right now, he's about to find out. A part of him is fucking terrified of the truth—he doesn't want his deepest, ugliest fears confirmed. All this time he's been holding on to the final threads of hope that Harry is fine and safe when he's always known that there was a horror story behind it all. As terrified as he is, he won't back down from this. He'll do whatever it takes to help Harry.

"Yes." Aaron's own voice sounds foreign in his ears. "Of course I will. I only knew him for a short time but I care about him. He's—he's my friend. I want to understand his situation and help however I can."

Gemma gives him a determined nod. She wipes her tears away and removes her left hand from Aaron's hand so she can take Raymond's. The couple share a smile, their eyes watery but brimming with hope.

"Thank you," she says.

"No need to thank me. It's what anyone would do."

She suddenly pulls him into a hug, making him stiffen for a second before he relaxes and hugs her back. Raymond meets his eyes over her shoulder and gives him a grateful smile.

Aaron closes his eyes. "We'll find him. I promise."

It's a promise he plans to hold onto, no matter what.


	13. Chapter 13

Aaron jiggles his leg under the table, clenching his jaw as he looks out the window beside him. It's the middle of May and the sun's harsh rays bounce off the pavement and through the windows, making sweat gather along his hairline despite the air-conditioning inside the café. Perhaps the fact that he's also sipping on hot coffee doesn't help either. If anything, it's only making him more jittery as he checks his phone for any texts or calls from Gemma. None. He huffs and sends off another text to her— _I'm here, everything alright?_ —before turning back to his coffee and finishing it in one gulp.

The last time he felt this nervous was three months ago when Mr. Collin, Gemma's private investigator, interviewed him for the first time. He remembers pacing their living room for hours on end as he recalled and wrote down whatever information he thought could help with Harry's case before meeting up with Mr. Collin. Steven, Tommy, and Casey all helped as well by reminding him of the specific dates and places they've been to.

Evidently, the most important pieces of information Aaron managed to provide was the 7-Eleven store where he always met up with Harry. Mr. Collin told him that it was easier to deduce where Harry might've been staying, which turned out to be the red-brick apartment complex that Aaron had always suspected. This also helped them narrow down the area in which they looked for CCTV footage from neighboring stores and groceries where Harry could be seen shopping by himself, but also clips that showed him with his captor.

That was their first real breakthrough. They now had a face and a name that was easier to track down. Logan Peyton, 45 years old, 6" 2. According to Gemma, the investigation was quick from there. Aaron also learned about an attempted kidnapping that happened to Gemma back in December. The connection of this event to Harry's captors was confirmed when one of the captured men from the kidnapping attempt—Kent Andrews—caved and told the authorities about his boss, Ricky Lenderman, who was soon discovered to be one of Logan Peyton's men. Only a few weeks later, they also discovered Logan's illegal business, including a prostitution house along the outskirts of the city. 

Aaron squeezes his eyes shut. Gemma told him about their suspicions that Harry got caught up in human trafficking even before Mr. Collin confirmed it. Deep down Aaron knew that it made sense, but he couldn't let himself accept it. Couldn't believe that someone like Harry had to go through something so vile. The confirmation fucked with his head so bad that he still gets queasy every time he's reminded of it. Not out of disgust, _never_ out of disgust towards Harry, but out of blinding, unadulterated anger towards the fucked up men who dragged Harry into that world in the first place.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, which makes him snap his eyes open. It's Casey, smiling as she places a glass of water and a blueberry muffin on the table.

"I think you've had too much caffeine and it's only nine in the morning," she says. "Drink water. Eat. It's on the house."

Aaron thanks her and takes a bite from the muffin. "Thank you, Casey."

"No problem." She fixes her apron and glances at the door. There aren't any people in line to order, which explains why she managed to leave the counter.

"Gemma not yet here?" 

"No, but she said she's on her way."

Casey squeezes his shoulder comfortingly. "Everything will be okay, yeah?"

Aaron takes a deep breath. He pats her hand. "Yeah."

Eventually, she has to return to the counter to attend to some customers. Aaron continues to shake his leg as he nibbles on his muffin. He's just about ready to explode from nerves when the bell chimes, and finally, Gemma's slightly disheveled form appears before him.

"Sorry I'm late, Mom wouldn't let me go," Gemma says, panting slightly, as she sits down across him.

"How is Anne, by the way?"

Only last month, they found out where Anne was. The key to it all was the note Harry left on a tissue paper at Aaron's place that had " _Amanda Suarez HPRC_ " written on it. Mr. Collin eventually figured out why Harry left that note—HPRC stood for Healing Path Rehabilitation Center, a small government-funded center in the midst of the city. Amanda Suarez was the name Anne was admitted under. Harry was trying to tell him about his mother who was stuck in a rehabilitation center all along.

Unfortunately, Anne was not yet completely sober. She's been in and out of rehabilitation centers for years straight, leaving for two months at most in between before falling into old habits and letting her addiction take over her again. Gemma arranged that she was moved to a different center after the discovery that Logan Peyton has visited her before. Mr. Collin claimed that it was easy to assume that Logan Peyton has used Anne to blackmail Harry in the past and probably still is. Now that Anne's safety was ensured, the authorities were ready to go full-force in tackling the enemy.

"She's...you know. The usual." Gemma sighed. "You know how they get limited time to call people from the rehab center, right? Well, she used all of that time begging me to release her from rehab. It was—" Gemma bit her lip and smiled sadly. "Mom still has a long way to go. I don't plan on telling her about Harry any time soon. It'll only make everything worse for her."

Gemma told him a few weeks back after speaking with Anne that their mother didn't know about Harry's situation. She knows who Logan Peyton is, but believes that he's Harry's longtime boyfriend and not his captor. Anne even claims to have seen Harry a couple times when they visited. All in all, Anne didn't have a single clue about the literal hell her son was put through.

"You did the right thing. One step at a time, yeah? Right now, our focus is Harry."

Gemma nods. She looks just as nervous as Aaron feels. She leans forward, her eyes dim but striking when she whispers, "I'm so fucking scared."

"Me too." Aaron's throat feels tight.

Gemma clasps her hands together in front of her face, her eyes wild with panic. "What if—what if things get violent? What if the captors use guns? Oh my god, if Harry gets hurt during all this I'm—"

"Gemma," Aaron says, taking her hands and squeezing, "Mr. Collin promised that they have everything under control. They've done this kind of stuff before, all we can do is trust them. Harry's gonna be fine. He's been through so much shit to not get through this. He can't get _this_ close to being free and not make it, alright? We have to believe that."

His words are for self-reassurance as well. Aaron spent the last few nights twisting and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep after Mr. Collin told them that the cops are set to raid Logan's prostitution house. Images of Harry, small and terrified in one of those rooms flashed through his head all night. The booming voices of the cops would no doubt scare him. There would be panic inside. The captors will be panicking as well. The possibility of Harry getting hurt is so real and tangible that it's all Aaron can think of. But every time those thoughts enter his mind, he immediately banishes them by thinking of Harry's smile when they see each other again. When he's finally free from those monsters.

"You're right," Gemma says, wiping her eyes. "You're right. Overthinking isn't going to take us anywhere."

Casey makes another stop at their table and brings a croissant and a mug of hot chocolate for Gemma. 

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver," Gemma says.

Casey gives her a hug as a response. The two women have become good friends over the past few months because of Gemma's frequent visits to the café. Aaron knows first hand how comforting and warm Casey is as a friend, so he's glad that Gemma gets to experience it too, especially during times like this when she needs it really bad.

When Casey walks away, Gemma says, "Do you pray, Aaron?"

Aaron isn't religious by any stretch, but this time, he says, "I'll pray with you."

They clutch each other's hands over the table and mumble beneath their breaths. Aaron hasn't prayed since he was a child, but he desperately hopes that if there is a god somewhere out there, they'd be listening.

_Please keep Harry safe._

_Please keep Harry safe._

_Please keep Harry safe._

He chants it in his head until his eyes are wet with unshed tears.

×××

"Mate, you haven't eaten anything."

Aaron doesn't move from where he's splayed on the couch, his eyes flitting back and forth between his phone screen and the television. It's 11 PM and Gemma promised to update him regarding Harry, but she hasn't responded to any of his calls or texts. The cooking show he's watching is nothing but white noise. He's been in the same spot for the last five hours and he's not planning to move any time soon.

"Aaron, c'mon." He feels Steven sit down on the couch by his feet. A plate of lasagna is placed on the coffee table in front of him. Aaron sighs and says thank you to Steven before bringing the plate closer and taking a small bite. He's not really hungry. His stomach is a mess of knots as it is and he doesn't want to risk upsetting it, so he places the plate back down on the table and looks at his phone. Still nothing.

"Mind if I chill here for a while?" Steven shoves his legs off the couch and sits directly next to him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. 

"You're supposed to be packing your stuff," Aaron says lightly. He allows himself to be distracted for a while and scans the room. Boxes are littered all over the hallway and on the dining table. One glance towards Steven's bedroom and messy closet tells him that his clothes still need to be packed.

"My moving out couldn't have had a worse timing," Steven says dejectedly. "I wanna be here for you and Harry, you know?"

Steven's dad has been nagging him to move apartments for the last few months. Steven has always been stubborn, but Aaron knew that it was only a matter of time before he caved. About a month ago, he told Aaron that he finally decided to take up his dad's offer and live at his dad's old condominium that's closer to his job. Steven looked guilty while saying it as though he was betraying Aaron by moving out, which was just ridiculous. It was bound to happen. They're all growing up and going places. Aaron gave a little speech about how their friendship will remain intact despite the distance. A few secret tears were released that night.

"You can always visit," Aaron says. With a small smirk, he adds, "Besides, I bet Harry will be thankful that the annoying one of the group has finally left."

"Foul!" Steven punches his arm. "Is this how you're gonna say goodbye to me, hmm? You disappoint me."

"Mhm. You're all grown up now, eh? Moving out, having a condo of your own. Making money for yourself." Aaron sits up and grins. "I'm proud of you. I really am."

Steven snorts. "First off, that condo is my dad's. Second, let's not talk about me right now. I still have," he pauses and looks at his watch, "about twelve hours before I have to leave for good. I want to spend that time talking about you, yeah? Don't wanna sound like your dad, but I'm worried about you. Especially now that I'm leaving, you tend to—"

"Relax," Aaron says with a sigh. "I'm stressed and nervous because tonight's important. Harry could be saved or he could—" he cuts himself off and clenches his jaw. "I just want him to be safe. That's all I want."

"And he will be," Steven says firmly. Aaron almost believes him. "Harry's a badass, he'll be fine."

Aaron nods. His phone still has no notifications. He sighs and closes his eyes.

"Rest up. I'll wake you up if I see a text or a call."

He's already half asleep by the time he nods.

×××

Watching Steven put the last of his things in the back of his car makes Aaron lightheaded. Throughout his entire university life, he's never spent a day away from Steven. They fell asleep in the library together, crammed their papers in every possible café together, cried and laughed and got drunk off their asses together. Now, Steven has a job at some fancy tech company, and he's going to move away. A four-hour drive distance from him. Aaron swallows past the lump in his throat.

"Everything's gonna be fine," Steven tells him before pulling him into a hug. Aaron hugs him tight.

"I'm going to miss you, idiot."

"That makes one of us."

Aaron playfully shoves him away, making Steven honk out a laugh.

Steven takes a deep breath and says, "We'll keep in touch, alright? Tell Harry hi for me."

"I will."

"Take care now. Love you bro," Steven says, grinning before walking to his car. Aaron stands on the pavement and watches him.

"Drive safe!" Aaron says once Steven pulls away from his parking spot. With one last wave through the car window, Steven drives off down the road. Aaron stands there until he disappears from his line of sight.

Aaron makes it back to the apartment and stands in the living room for a moment. The place feels big and hollow. He tidies up as best as he can, tossing unused boxes into the trash. 

He doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he takes a hot shower and stands under the shower head longer than necessary. The hot water calms his nerves, and for a moment, he feels at peace. That is until he hears his phone ringing.

He nearly slips and cracks his skull on the porcelain sink as he runs out the bathroom, only managing to cover himself with a towel when he's already in the living room. He accepts the call with wet hands without even checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" he says, breathless.

"Hi, Ronnie. Have you been running?"

Aaron sighs and closes his eyes. "Hi, Mom. Wasn't running. I was in the shower."

"Did I interrupt your shower?"

"No, it's fine." Aaron tries not to let his disappointment color his voice. He walks into his bedroom and starts looking for clothes. "How are you? How's Cindy?"

"Well, Cindy and I did some baking today. She has some friends over from school, they're in her room right now. I think they're watching a movie."

Aaron smiles. "That sounds fun. How about you? Seen any movies as of late?"

She laughs. "Well, I went to the movies with Thomas just the other weekend, remember? I haven't watched anything else since."

Aaron puts the call on loudspeaker as he dresses. "Thomas. Is that the guy with the mustache, or is he the one with the bucket hat?"

"Neither. I've just started seeing him. He loves fishing."

Aaron hums. "He's nice, I hope?"

"Very nice. He was over for dinner last Thursday and Cindy liked him."

His mom has been going out on dates for months and hasn't failed once to tell him about each one. Aaron's not sure if she's looking for anything serious, but whatever she's looking for, he hopes she finds it.

"That's good." Aaron stands in front of a mirror as he dries his hair with a towel.

There's a beat of silence, and then Mom says, "How about you, Ronnie? How are you?"

"Fine. Steven just left." Aaron walks to the kitchen and sets the kettle. Caffeine doesn't sound like a good idea right now, but no one's here to stop him anyway.

"Are you sure you don't want to come home? Even just for a few weeks?" She sounds cautious, because the last time she suggested it, Aaron kind of blew up on her.

"No, Mom," he says tiredly. "I have some stuff to do here. I'm alright."

She hums. It's completely expected when she says, "Is there any news about Harry?"

"No. None yet," he says quietly. All she knows about Harry is that he's a friend who has gone missing for a few months, and that the authorities are close to finding him.

"I'm excited to meet him. From what I've heard from you, he's a very sweet boy."

Aaron smiles. "He is."

"Well. Let me know when he's around, alright? I'll invite him over and bake my famous cookies."

"Will do."

"I love you," she says softly. "Call me whenever, alright? Whatever you need."

"Love you too, Mom."

"Right. I'll let you go now. Take care of yourself."

"You too. Bye." Aaron hangs up and leans against the kitchen counter. The kettle whistles. He makes his tea and decides to drink it while overlooking the streets through the window.

He's thinking of taking a nap when he sees it—a text from Gemma.

"Shit," he mutters, nearly dropping his tea as he sits on the couch. The text message only has three words, but it's enough to make tears spring to his eyes— _H is safe_.

He immediately calls her, biting his nails as he waits. Harry is safe, Harry is safe, Harry is safe. He could cry from relief.

"Hey," Gemma says as she picks up. She sounds tired and her voice is a little rough.

"Hey. Everything alright? Harry's alright?"

"Yeah. We're at the hospital right now." Before Aaron could worry, she hastily says, "He wasn't hurt when the cops arrived. It's protocol. They brought all the victims to the hospital for medical screenings. Harry doesn't have any serious physical injuries."

Aaron lets out a breath. "Thank god."

"Yeah." She sounds choked up. He hears a sniffle, and then, "God—he looks so thin. They had to sedate him as soon as they got him into the ambulance. He didn't see me but I saw him and—" she's cut off by a sob that leaves her mouth.

"Hey, it's okay. He can easily regain the lost weight, alright? It's okay, Gemma." He goes to his closet and has already chosen a pair of jeans before he asks, "Do you need any help there? I can bring food or clothes or whatever you need."

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, Gemma. Let me do this. I promise, it's not like I'm busy or anything." Even if he was busy, he'd drop everything to be there.

"Okay," Gemma says. "Ray and I have been taking turns in the waiting area and in the car, but Ray has to drive home to prepare Rose for moving. He's going to pack some of her stuff and settle some things with her school before she leaves for good and moves here with us."

"Rose? Do I get to meet little Rose at last?" Aaron says with a smile. He's seen pictures of Rose, and her resemblance to Gemma is almost creepy. Aaron can even see Harry's features in her as well, especially the chestnut curls.

"Yeah. School's over and we've been planning to finally bring her into the city. We were supposed to wait for maybe a few more weeks but I want Harry to meet her sooner."

Aaron slips his shoes on and grabs his car keys before heading out the door. "That seems like a great idea. Harry would love that."

"He absolutely will."

Gemma tells him which hospital they're at and they agree to meet up in a few hours before hanging up. In the silence of his car with only the engine to be heard, it finally sinks in. Harry is back. Harry's been saved. Harry is safe.

His heart is pounding in his chest. It's all so unpredictable—he knows it will take Harry a while to get used to his freedom and to deal with his trauma. Aaron wants to be by his side as whatever Harry needs him to be.

He picks up some food and drinks along the way, constantly checking his phone for texts from Gemma. When he arrives at the hospital, the sun is high in the sky and the cement is hot as he steps out of the car. He takes the paper bag of food and rushes inside. A nurse assists him and leads him to the waiting room where he immediately spots Gemma and Raymond sitting in the corner. As soon as they spot him walking towards them, Gemma jumps onto her feet and gives him a hug, followed by Raymond.

"I hope the two of you have eaten," Aaron says as he hands them the food. Gemma thanks him profusely and unwraps one of the burgers right away while Raymond takes a sip of water.

"Harry's in a stable condition," Raymond says as Aaron sits down beside him. "He's still asleep and they're tending his cuts and bruises."

"That's good," Aaron says. He looks around the crowded waiting room and wonders if all these people are also family members and friends of the other victims.

"His pimps were injecting heroin into him."

Aaron's head snaps towards Gemma, his chest feeling tight. Gemma's mouth is set in a thin line, her eyes hard. "The doctors found heroin in his blood. From the needle marks on his arms, it's easy to guess they used it on him regularly. Not just him, but most of the victims there. He'll have to go through a detox. We were also told to expect withdrawal symptoms."

Despite her steady voice, Aaron sees her contained rage through her clenched jaw. Her eyes are dim and the bags under her eyes are even more pronounced than usual. Raymond isn't faring any better, what with his pale skin and tired eyes. Aaron knows he doesn't look all that well, either.

"We'll get through this," Raymond says into her hair, dropping a kiss on her temple. "This is still a day to celebrate. Harry's been saved—they can't get to him anymore. He's alright. We're alright."

This makes Gemma's face crumple. She shakes her head, her lower lip trembling. "They haven't—Logan Peyton wasn't in the prostitution house. They haven't arrested him yet, but they captured most of his men, so they'll be interrogating them for his whereabouts." Gemma sniffles and aggressively wipes her tears away. "They haven't fucking found the bastard yet."

Aaron grits his teeth. The man who's made Harry's life a living hell during these past few years is still out there somewhere, still having a chance to escape. That's a problem for another day, Aaron thinks, because right now, they should be celebrating Harry's safe return. Harry should be their mere focus and nothing else.

He tells Gemma and Raymond just as much, and he can see the tension leave their bodies ever so slightly. Gemma clasps his hand in hers, smiling tightly.

At some point, Raymond goes home to shower and rest. Gemma refuses to leave her seat and merely demands that he bring her a change of clothes. For the hours that follow, it's just Aaron and Gemma sitting side by side, and eventually, Gemma falls asleep with her head resting on the wall. Aaron regrets not bringing his phone charger as it approaches 10%, but he still manages to let Steven, Tommy, Casey, and his Mom know about the good news.

The next time Aaron is conscious, the sky is already dark overhead, and Gemma is speaking to a doctor near the nurse's station. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and stretches his back, his neck already feeling sore from his awkward sleeping position earlier.

The doctor leaves and Gemma rushes to him, eyes wild. "Harry's awake."

Aaron's heart skips a bit. "You should go see him, Gemma. I'm sure he's scared right now. I'll look after your things."

Gemma looks like she's barely listening. She grabs her phone from her bag and nods nervously. "Yeah. Okay. Oh my god."

"Go on," Aaron urges her on with a smile. "Your baby brother's waiting for you."

With that, Gemma is off. He watches her disappear down the hall. Aaron sighs and rests his head on the wall behind him, smiling up at the ceiling. 

Things can only go up from here, he tells himself. He has to believe that.


	14. Chapter 14

Aaron doesn't get to see Harry. Gemma made it clear that Harry was still in shock and needed time to adjust to his new reality. It took Gemma several attempts for Harry to stop yelling at her to leave his hospital room. Apparently, Harry thought he was hallucinating. He thought Gemma wasn't real and that he was still trapped in that wretched house. Once they convinced him of the truth, he broke down into tears and wouldn't let Gemma leave his side for days straight.

It still doesn't mean that Aaron was allowed to see him. Gemma tells him that Harry's very easily spooked by men, even nurses and doctors. Aaron understands, but his heart breaks at the fact that Harry's been through so much trauma that he can't even be in the same room with a guy without having a breakdown. 

It's been two weeks since Harry was rescued from his captors, and ever since, Aaron has been keeping in touch with Gemma regarding his progress. For now it's all he can do, and he's happy because Harry is home and he's safe. That's all that matters.

Aaron's alarm hasn't even gone off yet when Gemma's call wakes him up. "H'llo?"

"Hey." Gemma sounds better. Chirpy, even. 

Aaron pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs at his eyes. "G'd morning. Everything alright? Harry doin' good?"

"Yeah. He's a lot better now. The worst of the withdrawal is over, and Doc's detox plan seems like it's working."

"That's good. Is he eating well?"

She sighs. "No such luck in that area yet."

"He'll get there, I'm sure." Aaron throws his legs off the bed and stands up. "How's he dealing with the change of scenery, by the way?"

Harry's been discharged from the hospital two days ago and is currently staying at Gemma and Raymond's apartment. Aaron doesn't say it, but the apartment isn't that spacious, and Rose isn't even in the picture yet. He worries that Harry will get claustrophobic, especially since he was locked up in similarly small rooms back in Logan Peyton's prostitution house. He grits his teeth at the image in his head and shakes his head.

Gemma hesitates for a moment. "Well. He'd love a bigger space, that's for sure. But we're working on it."

"Just tell me if I can do anything to help," Aaron says as he walks into his empty kitchen. He finds himself looking at the door to Steven's old room.

"I will, thank you," Gemma says.

"Is he still asleep?"

"Yeah. His sleeping schedule is kind of fucked up, but the sleeping pills are doing its job. Of course, I would rather that he didn't take those pills at all, but for now he really needs it."

Aaron hums. The dining table is a mess of papers and books from last night when he was studying for the upcoming licensure exam. If he's honest with himself, he's not preparing as well as he's supposed to. He sighs and turns away from the table. "How is he around Raymond?"

Once again, Gemma doesn't answer him right away. "There was kind of an incident last night."

"What kind of incident? Did Harry get hurt?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." She sounds tired. "Harry met Ray before when he was like, fourteen, but only briefly. So really, Harry doesn't know him. And therefore doesn't trust him. The first night Harry slept here, Raymond crashed at his friend's place to give Harry some space. We planned to keep that up for the next few weeks, but last night Ray had to come by to get some clothes. Turns out Harry wasn't asleep yet and they ran into each other. Long story short, Harry was really freaked out. He—he wouldn't stop yelling. Even when Ray left the apartment, he still wouldn't stop crying." Gemma takes a shaky breath. "It was so scary. It was like—it was like he couldn't see me. I was so scared for him. _Am_ so scared for him."

Aaron rests his elbows on the marble countertop, his heart feeling heavy. "It's too soon, I think. We don't—we don't know what kind of hell he went through in that house. Just because he's been rescued from it, doesn't mean he's completely free from it," he says quietly. "I wish it were different. Harry doesn't deserve it. But right now, we have to be strong for him because he can't be strong for himself just yet."

Gemma sniffles. "God, I wish—I wish I knew what I was doing."

"Hey, you're doing fine—"

"I'm _not_ ," Gemma cuts him off. "I'm scared I'm fucking this up for him because I don't know what to do. Or because I'm doing it wrong. Or I'm not focused enough. He needs actual, professional help, but that doesn't seem plausible yet. At least not until he's somehow settled down. Shit, Rose isn't even living with us yet. I don't even think it's a good idea to bring her here yet. Fuck."

Aaron opens his mouth to say something, but then he hears her say something like "shit, he's awake," before the line goes dead.

Their conversation stays on his mind as he showers, as he walks to work, and even as he's behind the counter, handing over change. 

During lunch break, Tommy and Casey corner both him and Raymond in the backroom while they munch on ham sandwiches.

"I haven't been in the apartment for a while, but from what Gemma says, he's still adjusting." Raymond says quietly. "I think, even with Gemma, he's a bit cautious because he hasn't seen her in years. And frankly, Gemma doesn't know how to act around him. He's not the fourteen-year-old kid she used to know. I guess what I'm saying is—it's quite overwhelming for the both of them, even without considering what Harry went through."

Aaron thinks about their situation for the rest of the day. After work, he studies for a solid thirty minutes before his thoughts become too much that he feels like his head will explode.

In the end, he goes to bed with Harry's face imprinted in the back of his eyelids.

×××

Aaron hasn't gone clubbing in what feels like ages, so when Tommy and Casey drag him to one of the bars they used to perform at, he feels a bit unsteady on his feet, as though he's not quite sure how to act in this space anymore.

However, several drinks later, he's grinning the biggest he's ever grinned. He's surrounded by warm bodies on the dancefloor, bopping along to some pop EDM track. At one point, a blonde girl who he's caught looking at him for the past few minutes approaches him, and they end up dancing together.

"Dancing" would be the PG-version, of course. Somehow, she ends up with her ass pressing against his crotch while her hair all but sticks to his sweaty skin. She smells sweet— _really_ sweet—as if she showered in cotton candy and dried up with marshmallows.

"You wanna go somewhere quiet?" she says over the music, her smile easy, and frankly, beautiful.

Still, Aaron finds himself shaking his head, politely telling her that he's heading out with his friends soon. The girl—he never even got her name—takes it in stride and thanks him for the dance before leaving the dancefloor. Aaron finds the bathroom and splashes water onto his face. He fishes his phone from his pocket to check the time—it's 2:47 AM—and grunts in surprise when he finds a missed call from Gemma.

She called about three minutes ago, so he figures she would still be awake as he dials her back. He leans against the cold sink and presses his phone to his ear, humming along to the faint music from outside the bathroom.

"Aaron?"

Aaron's drunken mind takes a few seconds to recognize the voice, and when he does, he goes rigid. _"Harry?"_

He suddenly feels ten times more sober than he was two seconds ago. He pushes past people to make his way outside. "Harry? Can you hear me?"

He breathes in fresh air once he's finally outside and leans against the brick wall. The other line has gone silent, but he didn't hang up, so he tries again. "Harry?"

"Hey," he says quietly.

He blames the overly large smile that breaks on Aaron's face on his alcohol. It's the first time he's heard Harry's voice in months and honestly, he feels like crying. He swallows and says softly, "Hey, you. Why are you still up?"

Even through the phone, Aaron can feel Harry's hesitation. It reminds him of the first time Harry called him—drunk dialed, actually—and despite what the circumstances that night might've held, he finds himself smiling even wider.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry mumbles. Aaron has to really pay attention to hear his words. His guess is that Harry's trying to make sure he won't wake up his sister.

"You've come for a lullaby, then? I can read you a chapter of my Advanced Calculus textbook. That'll knock you right out."

There's an awkward pause, and for a moment Aaron wonders if he's trying too hard to act like everything's normal that he's coming off as insensitive. But then he hears a quiet snicker, and it makes him sigh in relief.

Aaron feels like a schoolboy with a crush, what with the giddiness and butterflies and all that shit. He hopes to god he's not blushing. It hasn't quite sunk in yet that _Harry_ decided to call _him_ , completely unprompted (or so it seems). It's enough to shut up that insecure side of himself that worries every day about Harry not wanting anything to do with him anymore.

"How are you, Harry?" Aaron says after a while, his voice gentle.

"Fine," Harry huffs. Aaron can almost imagine his eye roll. "You?"

"I'm great. I'm—I'm really happy you called me," Aaron admits quietly. _I missed you_ , he wants to say. But he doesn't want to pressure Harry into saying it back when he might not mean it.

"I've been thinking of calling you for a while now," Harry says. "Gemma told me about you. About how much you helped with the investigation. I don't think I'd be here now if it wasn't for you."

Aaron shakes his head. "I did what any decent person would do, Harry. You don't have to thank me. The fact that you're safe now is enough of a reward."

Harry hums. He doesn't say anything for a while, but it's not awkward. Aaron gives him his time. "I, um. I wanted to talk to you?"

"Of course, we can talk about anything you want," Aaron says without skipping a beat.

"Is it okay if we meet up? In person?"

Aaron's chest feels heavy from how small Harry sounds—unsure and scared. He never wants Harry to be scared around him. Softly, he says, "Yes, Harry. I'd love that. If you're sure you're up for it, then I am, too."

"Okay. Um. Can I be honest?"

"Always."

"I don't like being stuck here," Harry whispers. "I get nightmares. I—I just want an excuse to leave the apartment. Will you be my excuse? Please?"

Aaron swallows past the lump in his throat. "I'll be anything you want, love."

"Okay."

"Text me the details, yeah? No matter what time, I'm free."

"But...you work?"

"Doesn't matter. Any time, yeah? You choose where you want to go as well. I'll drive us there."

"Okay."

Aaron looks up at the sky—it's less indigo and more blue now. He can feel the morning breeze already. Gently, he says, "You should be sleeping now."

"Right. Sorry." He hears some shuffling on the other line, and he imagines Harry getting under the covers. 

"It's okay," Aaron says. "I'm serious about the Advanced Calculus textbook thing by the way. It might really help."

"I appreciate the offer." Aaron can hear the smile in his voice. "But I think I won't need it tonight. I'm kinda feeling sleepy already."

"That's my effect on the people I talk to. I'm a natural snoozefest."

"Stop," Harry says lightly, chuckling. 

"How about I keep talking until you feel asleep, hmm? Just as, like, white noise. That stuff helps me sleep when I have a hard time."

There's a few seconds delay before Harry says, "Sure. If you want." Aaron imagines him in bed, his messy curls draped on the pillow, eyelids droopy as he loosely holds Gemma's phone with one hand.

Aaron makes a show of dramatically clearing his throat. Harry snorts. "This is the moment I've been waiting for—an excuse to talk non-stop until the break of dawn."

Aaron does just that—he tells Harry about his last few months as a university student, their graduation, dinner dates and movie nights with Cindy and Mom, reviewing for the civil engineering licensure exam, working at the café with Tommy and Casey, Steven moving out of the apartment, and so on. He doesn't know at which point Harry falls asleep, but eventually Aaron tells him good night and hangs up.

The sun is already peeking from the horizon by the time he makes it back to his car. He sends Tommy and Casey a text, telling them that he's alive and well and shouldn't worry that he just disappeared even though he's sure the couple is probably already at home, curled up in bed, and completely unaware of his disappearance in the first place. He chuckles to himself and drives home.

The smile never leaves his face for the rest of the day.

×××

Harry's choice of a hangout spot is the park a few blocks down—the one with the seesaws and slides and rivers with ducks. Aaron feeds himself a cup of coffee for breakfast and takes an unusually long time in front of the mirror, brushing his hair and beard until there's not a single strand of hair out of place. He puts on his brand new jeans and sneakers, along with a white shirt and his aviator jacket. He returns inside the apartment just to put on his favorite cologne before practically sprinting down the hallway again.

Gemma calls him while he's looking for a parking spot near the park. "Good morning, Gems."

"Someone's perky today."

"No reason not to be," Aaron says.

Gemma hums. "Right. Well, Harry and I are parked by the ice cream shop along the park. We'll meet you here."

The ice cream shop is hard to miss, with its bright pink and red colors and the hoards of children pressing their noses against the glass as they choose an ice cream flavor. He finds a parking spot and finds Gemma and Harry standing outside their car, watching the children.

When Harry turns and meets his eyes, he feels like the breath is punched right out of his lungs. He looks as beautiful as ever—his eyes green and bright under the sun, his hair tied up in a high bun with loose strands framing his slim face. He's wearing a large black jumper and faded jeans. Aaron can see how Gemma thinks he's so thin, because even compared to the last time Aaron saw Harry in December, he lost even more weight now. Regardless, Aaron is in awe of him. At least he doesn't have any visible bruises or cuts on his skin, nor does he have any serious injuries, so Aaron chooses to focus on that optimistic perspective. The heavy realization that Harry really is back and safe hits him hard, making him want to pull the younger boy into a hug and cry tears of joy into his neck.

As it is, Aaron forces himself to be cool and smiles as wide as he can. He stops in front of them, and for a moment, he and Harry just stare at each other. Aaron wants to know what Harry is thinking of right now, but all he gives is a small, shy smile.

"Harry is apparently sick of my face already despite us being together for only roughly a month," Gemma says, rolling her eyes playfully. "So. He wants to hang out with you for now. Fresh air and all that. Give me a call when I need to pick him up—"

"I can drive him back to yours, it won't be a problem," Aaron offers.

Gemma considers this. "Fine. Make sure he's back before 5 PM, I'm thinking of making an apple pie."

"Sure thing," Aaron says. He's about to ask Harry if he's okay with that arrangement, but the younger boy has his head bowed, his eyes trained on the ground.

"Good. Give me a call if you need anything." She leans in and drops a kiss onto Harry's temple and sends a salute towards Aaron before hopping into her car and driving off.

"Should we go for a walk?" Aaron asks, turning to Harry. Harry looks up and nods, his face unreadable.

They walk in the park for about half an hour without either of them uttering a word. Aaron likes the silence—there's nothing but the sound of the wind ruffling the trees, children laughing, and bicycle bells ringing. It's peaceful along with the fresh, cool air. He can tell that it has the same effect on Harry because his body seems more loose now, his shoulders and back not as tense and rigid as they were earlier.

They find an empty bench and Harry saves it for them while Aaron buys two bacon sandwiches from one of the vendors. He hands one to Harry as he sits down beside him.

"Do you feel better out here?" Aaron asks.

Harry throws him a small smile as he slowly unwraps his sandwich. "Of course. It feels like I can finally breathe."

Aaron smiles, watching the way his soft lashes drape momentarily over the skin under his eyes. "Good. Call me whenever you want company for a morning stroll. Or for any activity, really."

Harry gives him a tight smile. He hesitates for a bit, and then, "I, um. I wanted to say sorry, by the way."

Aaron pauses mid-bite, frowning. "Sorry? For what, love?"

Harry presses his lips together and keeps his eyes on his lap. His voice is just a mumble when he says, "I lied to you, before. I told you I was a student at Holton University. That wasn't fair of me. I'm sorry."

"What? Hey, no. Don't be. I completely understand why you did it, alright? It was for your own protection. Never apologize for that." Aaron wanted to take his hands and comfort him the way he did before, but he's not sure if his touch is still welcome, so he keeps his hands to himself.

Harry shakes his head, his face looking a mix of embarrassment and guilt. "You're allowed to be mad. I'm a prostitute and you let me inside your car, your apartment, you let me meet your friends, thinking I was just an ordinary uni guy. I could've—I don't know. I could've given you a disease or something—"

"Jesus Christ, Harry," Aaron says sadly. This time, he doesn't think too much about it as he scoots towards him and takes his hands. When Harry looks up, his eyes are slightly wet, his lower lip trembling. "Harry. I never thought of that, okay? Never. Because it wasn't like that. I cared for you, alright? I _still_ care. You were caught up in a fucked up situation that you didn't deserve to be in in the first place. Even in spite of all that, you're one of the kindest, sweetest people I've ever met. That's what matters to me, alright? I'm not mad at you, I don't think I have it in me. Please don't feel guilty about this."

It seems that he said all the right things, because Harry's shoulders immediately relax. He's still teary-eyed, but at least he's smiling this time around. Aaron lightly brushes his knuckle across Harry's cheekbone before he can think twice about it.

"You promise?" Harry asks.

"I promise."

He bites his lip. "Even now that you know what I am...that doesn't matter to you? You're not disgusted?"

Harry asks these questions so casually, as though it's been on his mind for a long time now. Aaron knows that Harry needs all the reassurance he can get, so he gives him the most genuine smile he could muster and squeezes his hand. "I don't care about any of that, Harry. I promise. You were a victim. You're not supposed to be punished for that."

Harry nods. He looks out towards the lake where a family are setting up a small picnic on the grass. The two kids are playing tag while their mother's voice is carried by the wind, telling them to slow down lest they trip and hurt themselves.

"It's weird to be back," Harry says, his eyes stuck somewhere between the thick cluster of trees on the other side of the park. "It's only been a month but...I feel like I don't know what to do with myself. I never had to think about what I did for the day, you know? I was given tasks. All I needed to do was to get through those. Now I have so much time and I feel like I'm wasting it. Like I no longer have an excuse for having such a shitty life because I'm free to do whatever I want now, you know?"

"Give yourself time to breathe," Aaron says. "I understand the frustration. But trust me, alright? You have to focus on yourself first. Your health and well-being. You're not wasting your time—you're using it well to get better. It's not fair to expect so much from yourself yet."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirk upwards. "You always know what to say, don't you, Aaron?"

"We should all be afraid of the day when I no longer have anything to say."

Harry bites his lower lip as he keeps himself from laughing, but his eyes are smiling and he looks absolutely breathtaking. Aaron looks down at his lap and notices that he hasn't touched his bacon sandwich yet.

"You're having trouble eating?" Aaron asks.

Harry shrugs. "We weren't fed regularly at the whorehouse. The doctor says it'll take a while for my stomach to get used to larger amounts of food since I'd gotten used to one meal a day or less. I'm following a diet that'll help me, but I don't know if it's working."

Aaron's throat feels tight. Whorehouse. That's what Harry calls Logan Peyton's prostitution house. He says it so casually, too. Aaron pushes that thought aside for now and plasters a smile onto his face. "You'll get there."

From then on, Harry and Aaron start hanging out regularly. Oftentimes, Harry calls him during ungodly hours or even during his shift at the café. Every time that happens, Harry apologizes profusely but Aaron makes sure he knows that he'd drop anything if Harry needs anyone to talk to.

Weeks pass and he and Harry have a regular schedule going on—on Mondays, they go to the park. On Wednesdays, Aaron goes to Gemma's place with take out boxes to watch a movie with them. On Thursdays or Fridays, they go to an art studio where they make therapeutic artworks—thanks to Casey and Tommy's membership there which they decided to let Harry use instead for the meantime.

All in all, things are going alright. Now that Aaron knows that Harry's safe and is a mere phone call away, he falls asleep much easier. He wakes up and goes about his day with a bounce in his step, especially during the days that follow their hangout sessions. Harry's quiet most of the time, but he laughs and smiles frequently as he listens to whatever Aaron decided to talk about that day. He hadn't opened up to Aaron about anything yet, and it's alright. While talking about that kind of stuff with people you trust can be healthy, he's also not going to pressure Harry. 

They're taking everything at Harry's pace, and Aaron is beyond honored to even be part of the process at all.

×××

"Can you buy a birthday cake?"

Aaron's walking down the baking aisle with his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, his cart rattling noisily with its rusty wheels. Aaron was just telling Harry about his plan to bake cookies on the weekend, which apparently, made Harry think of birthday cakes.

"Oh? For who, may I ask?" Aaron says curiously.

"For me."

Aaron grabs a kilo of sugar and tosses it into his cart. He frowns. "It's your birthday?"

"No." He hears Harry huff out a laugh. "My twentieth birthday was February first. I want to have a redo."

Aaron cuts himself off before he asks why. He realizes that Harry was locked up in _that_ house during that time. Violated and abused over and over again. On his 20th birthday. Aaron clenches his jaw and takes a few breaths to calm himself down.

"Alright. What flavor do you want?" Aaron says instead, pushing forward.

"Chocolate is always the sure way to go, isn't it?"

"Yeah? What about mocha?"

"It's always tricky with mocha. It's either really good or tastes like oil. Nothing in between."

Aaron snorts. "Strawberry, then."

"I'm not a weirdo."

He's made it to the cake stand. He inspects the cakes displayed behind the glass. One cake catches his attention. "Ooh, how about carrot cake?"

To his surprise, Harry says, "Now that I think of it, I don't think I've had carrot cake in a while."

"Copy that, bunny."

"Shut up," Harry says with a short laugh "It's healthy."

"Exactly. Anything else I can get? Drinks, maybe?"

"I'm craving chocolate milk."

"You sure you don't want carrot juice?"

" _Ew_ ," Harry fakes gagging into the phone.

"Whatever happened to bunny Harry?!" Aaron says with an exaggerated gasp. "I want him back."

"Bring me that carrot cake and chocolate milk and maybe I'll set him free," Harry shoots back easily.

"I see how it is."

He can hear a woman's voice on the other line—Gemma, most likely. Eventually, Harry says, "Sorry, Gemma's forcing me to eat something. She's not gonna let me borrow her phone anymore if I don't eat."

"We can't have that, can we?"

"No." Harry sighs. "Anyways. Just come over here. Buy one of those number candles as well!"

Aaron rolls his eyes. "Yes, m'lord."

"Thank you. Bye-bye!"

As soon as he hangs up, Aaron catches his own reflection on the glass pane and finds a stupid grin on his face. He looks away, knowing this won't be the last time it happens.

It's almost 6 PM when Aaron arrives at Gemma's place. He carries the cake in one hand and a paper bag with Harry's chocolate milk in it in the other. He's standing outside their door, panting from the stairs, just about to knock when he hears loud voices from inside.

"...acting like this. If you don't want to be treated like a child, then don't act like one!"

"I'm _not!"_

"Why do you always blow up on me? I'm trying my best here, Harry. I need you to help me out. You can't just sulk in the corner and expect me to know immediately what's bothering you and how to fix it. I'm not a mind reader!"

"Maybe if you _listened_ to me—"

"We already had this discussion. I said you're not ready yet. End of discussion."

"See? See what you're doing? I'm not a fucking kid, I get to decide what I want to do with my life!"

"I'm looking out for you, for god's sake."

"You're treating me like I'm made of _glass._ "

"Because maybe you are, Harry! Right now, that's what you are. It's not a bad thing. You have a long way to go before you're completely better—that's just the reality of it, Harry. You being stubborn about it won't change anything."

The door swings open and he comes face to face with Gemma, her eyes hard and livid that he takes an involuntary step backward. She looks like she's expecting him, though, because she merely rolls her eyes tiredly and brushes past him. "I'm going out. Stay with him until I'm back." And with that, she disappears down the stairs.

Aaron steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him. Harry's sitting on the living room floor, his back turned on Aaron. The TV's open and he's watching a baking show. Aaron sighs quietly and places the food on the dining table. He's just about to ask Harry if he wants a slice when he realizes that the younger boy's shoulders are shaking. He hears a whimper, and then he's crouching beside Harry immediately, worry filling his gut as Harry's cries grow steadily louder.

"Hey, shh, I'm here," Aaron says, gingerly wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Harry turns to face him and buries his wet face into his chest. Aaron takes that as an invitation to wrap the smaller boy up in his arms and rub his back soothingly. "It's okay, love. It's alright."

"She hates me," Harry chokes out, his voice scratchy. "She hates me so much."

"Harry, that's not true—"

"I make her so miserable. She had to sacrifice so much shit for me and I can't even eat my fucking broccoli. She had to cut back her office hours so she can be here with me more. She hasn't seen her fucking boyfriend in like, three days because I get anxious around him. She can't look after Rose, her _actual_ baby, because she's stuck here babying _me_."

Aaron bites his tongue and recognizes that this is one of those conversations where someone just needs to vent. So, he pulls Harry closer to him and doesn't say anything.

"I wanted to get a job," Harry says after a while, his voice muffled by Aaron's shirt. "She thinks I'm not ready yet. She won't let me earn money, but then I also hear her complaining about how their savings are being used up, and even though she never blames me directly, I _know_ I'm the reason. I'm not stupid. I don't want to be a burden but she seems dead set on making sure that that's all I'll ever be."

Aaron takes Harry's face in his hands and wipes his tears away with his thumb. His eyelashes are clumped together from tears, his eyes wide and miserable as he looks up at him. "Gemma loves you. She's stressed about stuff, sure, but that doesn't mean she hates you."

"She doesn't trust me. She doesn't listen to what I have to say. Why does she decide whether I'm 'ready' or not? I'm the only one who can know that," Harry all but moans.

"Here's what I'll say—she's doing what she thinks is best for you. But I feel like the two of you could compromise, and see to it that both what she wants and what you want are somehow met."

"She won't compromise. She doesn't want to change anything. I think—I think she's scared. That's how she is when she's scared. She goes all tough and angry. I just wish she wasn't angry at me," Harry says, his sentence ending in a whisper.

"She's not angry at you. She's angry at the situation," Aaron says gently.

Harry narrows his eyes at him and moves away from his hold. "Don't do that."

He blinks. "Do what?"

"You're just like her—you're talking to me like I'm some pathetic, poor kid. Don't filter yourself around me or talk down on me. I don't like it."

Aaron looks down at his lap. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was doing that. I just didn't want to upset you."

He sniffles. "Well. It didn't work."

Aaron looks up again. Harry's pouting, his eyes glued to the TV screen, obviously avoiding having to look at him. Aaron gets up and opens up the cake, cutting out two slices. He returns to the living room and joins Harry on the floor once again, placing his cake and chocolate milk in front of him. Harry ignores him.

"Happy twentieth," Aaron says quietly.

Harry doesn't touch his cake until about twenty minutes later, and even then, it's just to lick the icing. Aaron expects to receive the silent treatment for the rest of the night, which is why he's surprised when Harry says, "That room only had one window. It was high up towards the ceiling, just a small square. Light couldn't even come through it because there's another building directly beside it."

Aaron swallowed down his food, his stomach twisting.

"Always so stuffy in there. Smelled like sweat and cum. It was dark, too. It was impossible to tell the date or time or anything. Getting drugged out of my mind helped. Before, I had to float away on my own. With heroin, I could just lie there and I'd feel like I'm flying into the clouds. It made stuff so much bearable."

Aaron feels a bit dizzy from the onslaught of information, but he accepts it all, knowing that Harry just needs to let this out.

"That room," Harry says, pointing at the single bedroom behind them. It's a small square, just big enough to fit a queen-sized bed and a closet, "reminds me of it. I think the walls are also the same shade of white. Like, faded or eggshell white. It's weird. Sometimes it smells like my room at the whorehouse too."

Aaron wants Harry to look at him, but the younger boy is staring straight ahead with an empty look in his eyes. It's a familiar look, Aaron sure he's seen it on him before. As if he isn't seeing what he's physically looking at, but instead it's his brain providing him with an image.

"It's really odd. When I was new, they put me in the whorehouse too. I spent months there. Same circumstances, but without the heroin because I was obedient. Then Logan made me live with him in his apartment. I felt freer. I got to go places. I met you." Harry looks at him now, his eyes clouded. "Then Logan got paranoid that the cops were after them. He knew I had something to do with it. So this time, when he sent me back to the whorehouse, it was worse. Because I'd already felt what freedom was like. Not, like, _real_ freedom, but the freedom that comes with being free to roam the streets. Not being chained to the wall like an animal. That kind of freedom. It was a cruel thing to do. Logan knew what he was doing. It was exactly what he wanted."

Aaron ignores the heaviness in his chest and continues to watch him, his hands itching to hold him close and never let him go. Harry gives him a sad smile. "Sorry. You didn't ask for any of that."

Aaron takes his hand. "No apologizing, alright? You can tell me whatever you want. I want to hear whatever you want me to hear."

Harry squeezes his hand. "You're a good person, Aaron."

"I care for you. It's only normal."

Harry looks at him calculatingly. Aaron's starting to get uncomfortable when Harry suddenly stands up and walks to the cake on the table. Aaron follows him curiously. Harry finds the "20" candle and puts it on the cake. Aaron lights it up for him.

"Make a wish," Aaron says, smiling.

Harry sits down on the chair and rests his chin on his folded arms as he stares at the candle. Then, he closes his eyes and blows.

Aaron sits beside him. "What did you wish for?"

Harry tries hard to hide his smirk but fails. "That you'd let me move in with you."

There's the sound of screeching tires in Aaron's head as he gapes at him. Harry rolls his eyes at his expression and says, "You have a vacant room, right? I'll get a job and I'll pay half the rent. I'll even do all the cleaning and washing. I won't disturb you when you're studying for your licensure exam. I'll be such a good roommate you won't even realize I'm there."

Once he finally gets his mouth to work in the midst of his whirring brain, he says, "Harry, Gemma will kill me."

Harry's face turns serious. "Gemma doesn't decide for me, Aaron. It's my decision and I'm making it. Besides, it's not like you have a crowd of people queuing up to be your roommate anyway."

Aaron lets out a surprised laugh at that. "I haven't sent out the ad yet, that's why. Also, I'm not in the mood to deal with a stranger in the apartment and all the socializing I'll have to do."

Harry's smile is blinding. "I'm not a stranger and I also hate socializing. See? It's meant to be."

Aaron flounders around for some excuse, for some reason why this is a bad idea. He comes up with none.

"Only if you want to," Harry says a few moments later, his voice quiet. He suddenly looks unsure, as though he never considered the possibility that Aaron might just not want to live with him. Which— _impossible_.

Aaron rubs his palm down his face. "Are you sure? Like, a hundred percent, absolutely sure?"

"Super duper extra sure."

"Fuck." Aaron sighs. He meets Harry's bright, excited eyes and says, "Here's what I'll say—I'm not gonna let anyone rent yet. I'm not going to send out the ad. If you manage to convince Gemma without one of you murdering the other, then yes. You can move in."

Harry squeals—yes, _squeals—_ and throws himself into Aaron's arms, nearly sending them toppling to the ground. Luckily, Aaron has good balance and manages to wrap an arm around his waist and hug him back just as tight.

"Thank you. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You still have to get through to Gemma."

Harry pulls away and nods, a determined look on his face. "Don't worry, I'm on it."

They spend the rest of the evening baking—apparently the way to Gemma's heart is through her stomach. It feels natural, how they move around in the kitchen, hands grazing arms and hips as they do so. It's intoxicating and addicting. So much so that Aaron's a little scared of the way his heart feels like it could jump out of his chest whenever Harry so much as looks at him.

But that's a problem for another day.


	15. Chapter 15

It takes Harry exactly four days to convince Gemma to let him move out of their apartment. Harry told him that he brought up the fact that Raymond and Rose can finally stay in their apartment when Harry moves out, and that she can finally get her much-needed sleep without Harry screaming from a nightmare in the middle of the night. Aaron didn't find much humor in the latter reasoning, but Harry seemed quite satisfied with himself for that, so Aaron lets him have it.

What Harry doesn't know is that before Gemma agreed, she'd cornered Aaron at the café with that unsettling, hard gaze of hers that would intimidate absolutely anyone. 

"What's this I hear about Harry wanting to move in with you?"

Aaron expected this, of course. He knew Gemma wasn't just going to agree that easily without an assurance that her baby brother will be looked after. 

"He talked to me and asked me if I'd say yes to him being my roommate. I told him it would only happen if he convinces you first," Aaron said.

Gemma crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed. "Do you really think this is a good idea?"

"Have you talked to Harry?" Aaron asks curiously. "Because he told me how the room he's currently in reminds him of that room he was locked up in. He feels like he's a burden. He feels guilty that you can't be with Raymond and Rose. But beyond all that—I think we underestimate him quite a bit. Harry has survived shit we can't even imagine. I think it's fair to say that we can trust him on this, especially since he's obviously doing it to move forward with his life. He doesn't want to stay a prisoner of his past, Gemma. If we continue acting this way around him...he'll always be reminded of what he went through, when he should be creating new memories to outweigh them."

Something changed in Gemma's eyes—suddenly, her gaze isn't so sharp. Her shoulders fall and she lets out a sigh. "Yeah. He told me all that. For once, we actually spoke to each other and listened. No shouting, no fighting. I just—" She presses her lips together. "I have this irrational fear that if I let him out of my sight, he might be taken again. That it might be the last time I see him again. I can't let that happen again, Aaron. I _can't_."

Aaron sympathized with that. He had that fear, too—yet he was always been reluctant to voice it out loud, because could he truly lose Harry if he was never his in the first place? He wasn't family like Gemma was. He was a friend, at most, one that Harry trusted. But he wondered if he has proven himself enough to even _deserve_ to have the fear of losing him. 

Aaron patted her shoulder and smiled. "Harry's not going anywhere. I'll be with him every time he goes out. We'll keep in touch with you and keep you up to date. It's not like my apartment's that far away, is it? You can always visit each other. I think this change is for the better. It'll give you both the space you need. Give you a bit of breathing space, yeah?"

They talked over coffee for a few more hours until Gemma announced that Harry just texted her, asking where the food is and that it's a very rare occurrence that he voluntarily looks for food, so she was running down the street before Aaron could properly say goodbye.

To say the least, Harry is set to move into the apartment tonight, and Aaron's been a jumble of nerves as a result.

He's cleaned Steven's old bedroom, which is going to be Harry's bedroom, about four separate times now. He mopped all the floors in the apartment. He even did some grocery shopping. Soon, he realized that this was a borderline obsessive behavior for him, so he facetimed his mom and sister. He should've known they'd catch on immediately.

"Your place looks so clean," Mom says, her eyes widening as she makes a show of craning her neck to see the room. Aaron rolls his eyes fondly and switches his phone camera so they can see the living room fully.

"Well. I cleaned a bit 'cause my roommate's gonna start moving in. I don't think he has a lot of stuff either, just clothes and books and bed sheets—that type of stuff. I guess I didn't have to clear up the living room and kitchen because it's not like he's going to bring any furniture. But at least the bathroom—"

He's cut off by the sound of Cindy's laugh. Aaron frowns and switches the camera back so they can see his face again. Cindy says in between fits of laughter, "Ronnie, you're trying to impress your new roommate! I cannot believe it! Is he cute? Can you send a picture?"

He feels hear rise up his neck. " _Not_ true. It's what any decent human being would do, Cindy. Jesus."

Mom's face comes into view, and she's raising an eyebrow. Aaron doesn't like this. "Didn't you say it was Harry who was going to move in? You know—your good friend Harry? The one you always talk about—"

" _And_ that ends our call," Aaron cuts her off loudly while Cindy's laughter continues to echo in the background.

"We're just playing around, c'mon now," Mom said, though the teasing tone of her voice doesn't change. "I was serious when I said I'd love to meet him, by the way. I'm intrigued, truly—"

"Send a picture!" Cindy chimes in.

"—and I'm sure he's wonderful."

Aaron is _not_ blushing. He pretends to busy himself by fixing the spices rack despite the fact that he's done that several times already. "Mom, please don't make it into a big deal. We're friends. He just needs somewhere to stay as he tries to find his footing. I have a vacant room. It's all common sense."

Mom hums in a "I-don't-believe-you-but-whatever-you-say-honey" tone while Cindy squeezes her face into the shot just to wink exaggeratedly. Aaron fights the smile blooming on his face and fails.

"Wanna meet him too!" Cindy says.

Aaron's about to respond when he hears a knock at the door. He's embarrassed with how quick he says goodbye and ends the call. He fixes his hair as he walks down the hall and finally opens the door.

A red-cheeked and red-nosed Harry greets him on the other side with his signature lopsided smile. He's carrying a box with the word "Books" written on it, and on instinct, Aaron immediately takes it from him with a smile and carries it inside.

Gemma and Raymond trail in, carrying a box and a luggage. Aaron's glad Harry has accumulated at least that much stuff, if he's honest, but perhaps it's mostly the clothes that Gemma bought him last month. Aaron leads them to Harry's room, and he can almost imagine the floor and walls sparkling with how much he cleaned it.

"Finally, a room with a big window," Harry says, dropping his box of books on the bed and practically skipping to the wide window. He opens it and sticks his head out, the wind ruffling his hair. Aaron watches him, his chest warming at the smile on Harry's face. It's what he deserves—to smile, always.

"Alright Rapunzel, step away from that window before you fall to your death," Gemma says with a laugh as she pulls Harry by the back of his shirt and back into the room. Harry has a small, quiet smile playing on his lips, his face beautifully flushed.

There isn't really any unpacking to do since Harry literally only has two boxes and one luggage bag. They leave his things in his bedroom while Aaron leads them to the kitchen and offers them coffee and snacks. They sit at the kitchen counter and chat aimlessly, but all Aaron can focus on is the side of Harry's knee pressed against his thigh. Harry's quiet—he laughs and smiles at the right time, but he doesn't contribute to the conversation. Aaron can see that he's a little bit tense—his back rigid and hands fidgety. He knows this is a big step for Harry and that he's probably nervous and overthinking everything, so Aaron takes his hand that's on Harry's thigh and gives him a reassuring squeeze. Harry gives him a thankful smile in return.

Eventually, Gemma and Raymond have to leave. They walk them to the door, and Aaron and Raymond watch the Styles siblings as they wrap each other up in a hug.

"You stay safe, you hear me?" Gemma says when they pull away. "You call me if you need anything, no matter what it is."

"Promise." 

"Good." Gemma turns to Aaron and also gives him a hug. While they're embracing, Gemma says, "If something happens to my little brother, I will castrate you."

Aaron lets out a surprised laugh while Harry just shakes his head. When the couple finally leave, Harry walks straight back into the living room and plops down onto the couch. He opens the TV with the remote and pats the spot next to him as he says, "Do you watch Project Runway?"

Aaron enthusiastically jumping onto the couch is enough of a confirmation. 

On Harry's first night here, he falls asleep on the couch, his cold feet tucked under Aaron's thigh and his mouth slightly hanging open. Aaron lets him be, but makes sure to cover him with a blanket and close the TV.

He glances at Harry's noodle-like form sprawled on the couch when he's by his bedroom door and finds that Harry fits in his home just right.

×××

The first nightmare happens exactly a week since Harry moved in.

So far, they've been doing alright. Aaron follows a schedule—wake up, eat breakfast with Harry, go to the café for work, go back to the apartment to join Harry for lunch during his break time, back to work, then back home. Aaron doesn't mind the brisk walking he does in making his way back and forth between the café, especially when Harry's face lights up with a smile whenever he goes through the door.

At first he worried about leaving Harry alone at the apartment, to which the younger boy merely rolled his eyes at.

"I'm not a toddler, Aaron. Gemma used to leave me alone when she went to work too and I held up just fine," Harry told him.

So, Aaron lets Harry use his laptop since he's looking for a job in the area, and so he can also watch movies when he's bored. Gemma comes to visit when she can and even spends some dinners with them.

Everything's fine. During times when Aaron studies for his upcoming licensure exam in the living room, Harry quietly sits with him on the couch. Some days he's quite chatty, too, and takes a peek over Aaron's shoulder with an adorable frown on his face when he sees a bunch of unfamiliar formulas on the book Aaron's reading and highlighting. One time, Harry fell asleep on the couch again while Aaron was studying late. Aaron told him that he didn't have to wait up for him and that he could just go to bed early, but Harry merely said, "I like the sound when you write and turn a page of a book. It's relaxing."

Overall, they get along well. Almost _too_ well, if he's honest. Either Harry's been really good at hiding his emotions or he's healing from his trauma rather quickly. Aaron's always been ridiculously hopeful, so for some time, he really believed the latter.

Until tonight.

Aaron's in bed, tired from work, and his eyes stinging from staring at his laptop screen. It's quite late—1:47 AM—and he knows he's going to regret staying up late tomorrow when he can barely keep his eyes open at the counter. Harry didn't sit with him in the living room tonight while he studied like usual; in fact, Harry went straight to bed after dinner, saying a quiet "good night" before disappearing into his room.

Aaron didn't find anything weird about it. Gemma told him how Harry had his days when he just needs some quiet. 

He thinks of the boy in the room next to him as he slowly drifts off to sleep, his eyelids getting heavier and heavier by the second. He's halfway dreaming when he hears it—a loud gasp followed by a shrill cry.

Immediately, Aaron is off the bed and on his feet, nearly hitting the door head-first as he rushes out of his room. He blinks his eyes once he's inside Harry's room, his heart pounding in his chest. It's dark and the only light is coming from the street light streaming in through the window. Harry's already sitting up, swaddled up by blankets in the middle of his bed, his knees folded into his chest and his shoulders curled inwards.

As Aaron stands there in the doorway, he realizes that Harry's already awake. He's quietly sniffling into his palms, the rest of his face obscured by the curls hanging over his face. His body is trembling ever so slightly, but it's enough to make Aaron's throat feel tight.

"Harry…" he says softly as he takes a tentative step forward.

Harry doesn't look at him and merely shakes his head. Voice muffled against his hands, he says, "I'm fine. Sorry. I'm okay."

Aaron stays where he's standing and says, "Nothing to be sorry for." He doesn't know what to do at first, and the last thing he wants to do is to stress Harry out even more, so he asks softly, "Do you want company, H? If not, I'll go back to my—"

"Stay," Harry says, his voice small. After a bit of hesitation, Harry takes his hands away from his face and sniffles. His eyes are red from crying, his lips bitten raw. Tear tracks have dried on his cheeks. When he looks up at Aaron, his lower lip trembles, and Aaron's sitting beside him in an instant.

"Of course, whatever you need, love," Aaron says just as Harry throws himself into his arms. Aaron hugs him tightly, closing his eyes as Harry shakily exhales against his neck.

Aaron can't even begin to imagine what nightmares Harry has. He doesn't want to. But he knows that it'll haunt Harry for quite some time—something he doesn't deserve. Aaron wants to grab those demons in Harry's head and drag them out to banish them forever. He wishes he can, but he knows that this will take time, and Aaron's not the hero here despite how much he wants to be for Harry's sake.

They don't talk for a while. Aaron continues rubbing soothing circles into Harry's back while Harry remains glued to him, clutching onto him like a lifeline. Aaron's eyes are heavy and tired, but he's never been more awake.

It hits Aaron like a truck—Harry's not okay. He tends to forget when their days go by without an incident, when Harry's grinning and laughing, when they're chatting about random things like any other pair of friends. He remembers Gemma's phone call a few days ago, wherein she told him that he should suggest to Harry that he go to therapy or join a support group. It will help him a lot, Aaron knows. Aaron told her that he'll try. He hasn't brought it up with Harry yet because he can never find the right time.

"Tell me about your family," Harry says, breaking the silence. His voice is rough and sleepy.

Aaron nods, tightening his arm around him. If Harry needs him to be a distraction right now, that's exactly what he'll be. "I have a little sister, her name's Cindy. She's in seventh grade. She does ballet. Then there's Mom—she's amazing. They were here during my graduation—we went out for dinner and went shopping at the mall. They slept here for two nights before returning home."

Harry sniffles. "You didn't go home with them after graduating?"

"No," he says. He pauses, because he's quite sure that Harry was asking a question. Frankly, he doesn't have an answer to it. He knows the practical thing would've been to go home until he's done with his licensure exam before returning to the city to look for work. He tells everyone that he wants to keep working at the café to save up, when in reality, his salary from being a barista just barely covers his living expenses. He hasn't been able to save up much money at all. He could've gone home and worked there, not needing to pay rent and other bills, but he stayed here. There's a niggling voice in the back of his head that he's been avoiding—a voice telling him the truth he doesn't want to hear.

 _You stayed for Harry_.

But Aaron isn't sure if he wants to say it out loud. He doesn't want to scare Harry away in case he comes off as too intense. Maybe it's not entirely the only reason he stayed, but it's one of the reasons, and that alone is quite a heavy thing to admit. Or at least Aaron thinks.

"I'm just trying to figure out my adult life. Thought I'd stick around here for a bit, see where it takes me," is what Aaron ends up saying.

Harry hums, and Aaron feels the vibration on his chest. "Gemma and Raymond moved here for me. Before, when I was—when I was still under Logan, I gave her a call. I told her _not_ to come because Logan was threatening her safety. Of course, she did the very opposite because I let a few things slip and she caught on that something wasn't right with me. That I was hiding something. So she came here to investigate, and once they figured out how serious it actually is, she decided to stay here to be practical. Raymond followed, too, because he said Gemma couldn't take care of herself and was too stressed and that he was worried for her safety as well. Rose—they left Rose. They left her with a friend because she had school." Harry swallows loudly, his voice tight. "I wish they didn't have to compromise anything for me."

"Harry—"

"No, listen. One of the reasons why I really wanted to move out from Gemma's was because I knew they were thinking of going back home, where Rose is. Where their lives for the past few years is. I had to show them that I can handle myself now. So if they choose to stay here, it's because they really want to, and not because they feel like they need to do it because of me."

Aaron sighs quietly. "Are they staying in the city for good, then?"

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. Gemma's mentioned a couple times that they plan to bring Rose here soon, though. I don't know if she's only gonna be visiting or not."

"Have you ever met Rose?"

"No," Harry says, his voice soft. "Gemma left home when she got pregnant at seventeen. She ran away with Raymond. I'm excited to meet her, though. I love kids."

Harry's voice is steadier now. He's not shaking anymore, and he feels more relaxed. Aaron's glad that their talk is enough to calm him down from his nightmare.

"I'm sure she'll love you too."

Harry pulls away from him and gives him a small smile. His eyes are still puffy, face blotchy and hair matted with sweat, and as always, he looks beautiful. Harry looks down at his lap and plays with a loose thread on the bed. 

"I know you wanna ask what the dream was about."

Aaron presses his lips together. 

"To be honest, I don't remember much when I wake up. Just—random scenarios, random faces. The feeling, though. It stays with me even when I'm awake. I feel...exposed. Sore. Scared."

"Is it...do you get them often?" Aaron asks quietly.

Harry shrugs. "I don't know. I forget. Doesn't matter, really. It's not as bad as it looks. People have been through worse."

Aaron's heart aches at that. "Harry, just because—"

"I know, I know," Harry says with a slight roll of his eyes. "'What I've been through is rough and traumatic,' 'my feelings are valid.' I know. Gemma already gave me that speech. But...it's kind of my way of coping. I don't want people to pity me, so I won't pity myself. Yes, those people were vile and disgusting for what they did"—his voice cracks—"but I wanna be over it. I want to leave it behind. If I let it affect me until now, I'm letting them win. And I've already fucking lost so many times, so that can't happen."

Aaron admires his strength and determination. Tears spring to Aaron's eyes—happy ones, he believes—because Harry is trying. He's trying hard, and Aaron's going to help him get there.

He presses his lips together. Gently, he says, "Harry, have you ever considered going to therapy? Or, like, support groups—"

He expected Harry to be annoyed or even angry because that's how he apparently reacted to Gemma whenever she brought it up, but to his surprise, Harry huffs and rolls his eyes. "Did Gemma put you up to this?"

"She's just worried about you, H."

"I know." Harry's voice is small. He gives him a sad smile. "I'm guessing she told you about how I stubbornly say no each time, then?"

Aaron reluctantly nods.

The younger boy sighs. "I don't want to go to therapy or join support groups and all that because it feels like I'm letting them win again." Harry looks down and plays with his fingers. "That they really fucked me up so bad that I need to go to fucking _therapy_. It feels like losing again. Like—I don't know. It makes me feel weak. I hate feeling weak. It's all I've been for three years."

Aaron hates what they've done to Harry. They made him think he's weak when he is in fact one of the strongest people he knows. But Aaron also knows that they need to move at Harry's pace. He'll come around, eventually, and realize that asking for help isn't a form of weakness or something to be ashamed of. Aaron wants to help him get to that point, but it will take time. So, Aaron says softly. "I understand. You don't have to go if you want to, but can you at least think about it? You might change your mind in the future."

Harry shrugs. "Sure. I'll think about it. Now, come help me go back to sleep, will you? Where's that difficult math book you were talking about before?"

Aaron lets out a surprised but delighted laugh. "I can read it to you from memory."

"Nerd."

He bites back a smile.

×××

On Saturday, Harry and Aaron agree to go out for lunch with Tommy, Casey, and Steven. Steven only has two days off (because he's usually busy even during the weekends, so it's a rare occurrence) and he plans to use one of them to visit them. 

When Aaron brought up the lunch meet-up with Harry, he was expecting a bit of reluctance. But of course, he once again underestimated him, because Harry's eyes lit up at the mention of his friends and immediately agreed.

It's half past eleven and he and Harry are walking side by side down the street, heading towards Casey and Tommy's place just a few blocks away from the café. Originally, they thought of eating at a restaurant, but then Steven brought up the idea of having a movie marathon and lounging around on the couch while munching on some food, which frankly seemed more relaxed and chill. Harry liked the idea too, so they've decided to crash the couple's house since they have the most space—and also, a basement.

Harry sticks close to him as they walk, their arms brushing against each other as they turn a corner from where Aaron can already spot Casey and Tommy's house. Before they can even knock, the door is already swinging open, and it's Steven's shaggy red hair that greets them at the door.

"Finally, come in, come in," Steven says with a large grin, ushering them both into the house as if it's his.

Harry's smiling shyly, his cheeks pink as they walk into the living room where Casey and Tommy are watching TV. 

"Sweetheart! Oh, how I've missed you," Casey practically leaps up from the couch and pulls Harry into a bone-crushing hug.

For a moment Aaron's worried that the touch might be too much for Harry, but when he sees Harry's bright eyes and smile over Casey's shoulder, he lets out a breath.

Tommy greets Harry next in that quiet way but genuine of his. He says something in a low voice that Aaron doesn't catch, but it makes Harry smile, and that's really all that matters.

"Glad you're joining us, Harry," Steven says next, the grin never leaving his face.

"Thanks for inviting me." Harry looks a bit overwhelmed by all the attention, but from the smile on his face and his twinkling eyes, Aaron takes it as a good thing.

They're led to the dining room—spacious and bright from the sunlight pouring in from the wide sliding glass doors that leads to the small backyard. They sit down at the oak wood table, Aaron and Harry beside each other, Tommy and Casey opposite them, while Steven sits at the head of the table with a pleased smile.

While Casey and Tommy shuffle around to retrieve their food from the kitchen, Aaron takes in Steven's clean-pressed polo shirt and dark slacks.

"Your new job seems to have been treating you well," Aaron tells him teasingly.

Steven rolls his eyes. "It better be. I work my ass off 24/7, the least they can do is pay me well."

Aaron laughs. He turns to Harry and says, "Next thing you know he's gonna come visit us in a full suit, all proper rich and that."

Harry shakes his head as if he's disappointed by Aaron's joke, a smile tugging at his lips.

Once the food is put on the table—roasted chicken, macaroni salad, garlic bread, and wine—they dig in and talk about anything and everything under the sun. Aaron smiles every time Harry talks and joins the conversation. It all feels so right—Harry is happy and comfortable, he's here with Aaron's three oldest friends after not seeing them for a while, and the food is good. Especially the wine.

Harry loves the wine too, it seems. His cheeks and lips are even a darker shade of red because of it. There's not a trace of stiffness in his body as he laughs at a story Casey is telling about an embarrassing conversation with a customer at the café. Aaron would love to know what's so funny, really, but he can't really pay attention to what she's saying. He's happy just sitting there, his thigh lightly pressed against Harry's under the table, watching the younger boy's eyes shine with amusement and his red lips curl into a smile.

"Tommy, you still have our stuff in your basement?" Steven says out of the blue.

"You mean the instruments? Yeah, of course."

"Let's play something. I can't be the only one who misses the band," Steven says.

"That's a great idea!" Casey exclaims.

"I'd love to hear you guys play again, you were all great when I last watched," Harry says.

"See? Harry wants to see us play! C'mon, then. The Red isn't dead yet!" Steven proclaims loudly before leaving his seat and rushing to the basement door under the stairs.

Harry's giddy as they walk down the creaky stairs into the basement. It's the wine, Aaron thinks, so he grips his arm and makes sure he doesn't tumble down the steps. The basement is spacious as well, with all of their hidden knick-knacks properly packed into boxes and stacked on one another, pressed against one wall to save up space. 

Tommy yanks off the cloth covering the drum set while Casey retrieves the guitar and bass from where it's hanging on the wall. Aaron turns and finds Harry comfortably lounging on a bean bag in the corner, his teeth stained with wine as he grins.

"This performance is dedicated to the one and only Harry Styles," Steven says into the microphone, followed by a loud whistle from Casey and an enthusiastic "whoo!" from Aaron. Steven narrows his eyes at him when he sees Aaron standing by the stairs beside Harry. "Aaron, get your ass over here and start tapping those drumsticks!"

He hears Harry's quiet laugh as he walks towards the group. They decide to play an original song, it's called "Your Rhythm," and it's one of Aaron's favorites.

They start playing—Aaron on the drums, Steven playing lead guitar while Tommy plays bass. Casey's smooth voice echoes in the basement, amplified by the microphone. Harry bobs his head along to the fast beat, singing along as best as he can, his mouth loose and stretched from his grin.

Aaron's heart beats against his chest, faster than the beat of the drums. When Harry meets his eyes, Aaron gets the same feeling the first time he's ever seen him—warm. He feels warm and light, honored to even be looking at him. Compared to when Aaron first saw him languidly walking into the café all those months ago with his glossed-over, vacant eyes and messy hair, Harry is smiling now, grinning so wide his cheeks must hurt. His eyes are bright even in the dimness of the basement. 

He looks alive.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry's job hunting goes smoother than either of them expected. 

Aaron's been driving Harry around the city and giving out his frankly underwhelming resume to different shops that are hiring. Harry says he doesn't mind what job he gets—a janitor, a cashier, a dishwasher—because what's important is that it's a start.

Their last stop is a bakery called "Daphne's." Harry looks a bit tired as they get off the car, but he sends a reassuring smile Aaron's way as if to quell his worries. Aaron leans against his car and waits there as Harry clutches a brown envelope in his hand and enters the bakery.

Through the glass, he watches Harry approach an old woman who gives him a warm smile. They talk for a while, and eventually Harry hands over the folder. The old lady looks through its contents before looking back up and smiling. They exchange a few more words, and then they're shaking hands. Harry emerges from the shop with a dazed look on his face.

"How did it go?" Aaron asks curiously.

Suddenly, Harry smiles wide. "I think I just got hired."

"You _think?"_

"I just got hired, Aaron!" Harry says gleefully, his eyes bright as he bounces on the balls of his feet.

"Oh my god! That's amazing!" Aaron pulls him into a hug while Harry laughs into his shoulder.

"I got lucky. She says I remind her of her grandson. When I told her I can bake a bit, it sealed the deal for her," Harry says once he's pulled away.

Aaron squeezes his shoulder. "She seems nice. The place looks good, too."

"Yeah. It smells like my Grandma's house, with the baked cookies and pastries. It's not bad at all." 

"When do you start?"

"She says she'll text me all I need to know," Harry says, rounding the car to get into the passenger seat.

Aaron hops into the car as well and starts to drive. "Just let me know and I'll drive you, yeah? Do you think they have a phone at the bakery so you can call me when you're ready for me to pick you up after your shift?"

Harry traps his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. "You don't have to do that, Aaron. I can walk—"

"Harry, don't be ridiculous. It's too far."

"—or take a cab. I don't want to put you out of your way," Harry says quietly.

Aaron glances at him and says, "You're not, Harry. It's not a big deal, really. I really want to do this for you."

Harry turns to look out the window. "Don't wanna be a burden to you, too."

"You're not," he says without missing a beat. "I promise. I care about you and I want to help you out."

"You've helped me out enough times—"

"And I want to keep on doing that," Aaron cuts in softly, reaching across the console to squeeze his hand briefly before making a move to pull away. Except, Harry grips his hand and keeps him there. Aaron turns to him and finds Harry staring at their joined hands.

Harry looks up and meets his gaze. There's a small smile on his lips. He looks absolutely beautiful. Softly, Harry says, "Thank you for everything."

Aaron smiles back at him, his heart warming up in his chest. "You deserve it all. And so much more."

They're at a red light and Harry's face is closer to him than he previously remembers. Aaron pretends not to notice and continues looking straight ahead, but it's hard to do so when he can feel the warmth radiating from the younger boy's body, as well as the cologne he's wearing.

"Aaron?" Harry's voice is soft, but he catches the slight shakiness in there. He feels his breath hit the side of his neck.

"Hm?" Aaron can only grunt, eyes still stuck ahead. Harry's moving even closer—he's leaned over the console and their hands are still intertwined between them. Aaron's heart is beating in his chest and his brain is running a mile a minute.

"Can you please look at me?"

Aaron takes a deep breath and turns his face so now there's only an inch separating their lips. Aaron swallows hard. Harry's eyes flick down from his eyes to his lips. Aaron can't move, can't think. They're about to kiss. Harry made the first move. Harry _wants_ to kiss him. 

Harry leans in and that's when Aaron's reminded of the shit Harry has been through, the amount of people who touched and hurt him, who made him think that he _owed_ his body to them. They were just talking about how Aaron has been helping Harry out lately and Harry just thanked him and—what if Harry's only doing this because he thinks he needs to? Because he thinks Aaron wants something in return for all the help he's given him? 

It's enough to make him hastily turn his head and lean away, so Harry's lips end up pressing against the skin below his ear. He grips the steering wheel tightly as he feels Harry stare at the side of his face.

Before either of them can say anything, someone honks from behind, and Aaron looks up to see that the light just turned green. So, he continues to drive while Harry slowly leans away from him as though he's shrinking into the corner. 

Aaron doesn't want Harry to think he did anything wrong, so he softly says, "Harry, we're friends, yeah? I care about you. It's why I help you out. I enjoy spending time with you because you're an amazing person. You know that, right?"

He wants Harry to know that Aaron didn't have any malicious intentions when he agreed to let Harry move in with him in his apartment. That he respects and cares so deeply for Harry that he'd never demand such things from Harry like sex. Maybe Harry's gotten used to it because it was his life for the last three years, that there will be consequences if he doesn't submit to the other man, but Aaron wants him to understand that this isn't _that_ kind of arrangement, and that he shouldn't feel the need to pay him back or return the favor at all.

Harry's chewing at his bottom lip, his eyes glued on the road ahead. He monotonously echoes, "Friends."

There's a look in his eyes that Aaron can't name, but it doesn't look good. Harry's shoulders are tense, arms wrapped around himself. 

"Of course," Aaron says, confused. "Aren't we?"

He thought he'd made a good show of making Harry feel safe and welcome and comfortable. He made sure to make Harry feel loved and cared for every day. How can Harry doubt their friendship? Perhaps it's his insecurity speaking, but either way, he's surprised it's an issue.

"Right." Harry stares straight ahead, his voice cold. "Nothing but friends."

He's upset. Aaron said something wrong. "Harry—"

"I don't want to talk. Can we just go home?" Harry says, his voice cracking at the end. When Aaron turns to him, Harry already has his back turned as he looks out the window.

Aaron hates that he made Harry upset for whatever reason, but he doesn't want to upset him even more by pushing it, so he doesn't say anything. He keeps on glancing at him every few minutes, but Harry's as still as stone as he stares outside. Aaron hopes he hasn't fucked this up for good.

Neither of them break the silence as they arrive home. Instead of heading straight to bed like Aaron expected him to, Harry prepared dinner. Aaron hung around in his room while Harry cooked outside, because he wasn't sure if Harry wanted him there. He's in bed scrolling through Instagram when Harry's quiet voice says, "Dinner's ready."

Harry's already sitting at the dining table when he comes out of his bedroom. Aaron sits opposite him instead of beside him like usual. Harry cooked spaghetti with meatballs, and Aaron once again asks what he ever did to deserve a roommate as lovely and kind as Harry.

He's about to compliment Harry's cooking when Harry beats him and speaks first. "Why did you help me?"

Aaron stares at him for a moment, confused. "What do you mean?"

Harry looks conflicted as well—his eyebrows are furrowed, lips downturned, though his eyes are serious. "Gemma said when you found out she was my sister, you agreed to help her find me. Why?"

It shouldn't hurt, but it does. Aaron's at a complete loss—he doesn't know where Harry's head is at and he doesn't want to say the wrong thing, but at the same time, he thinks _fuck it_ , because he can't really say the wrong thing if he just says an honest answer. Harry would appreciate that, too.

So, he takes a deep breath and massages his temple slightly. "Why _wouldn't_ I help you?"

"Just answer the question," Harry says tiredly. His eyes are dim and sad. Aaron wants to bring back the spark in his eyes just minutes ago when he was told that he was hired.

"Because it's the right thing to do? Because I drove myself crazy when you suddenly disappeared after you called me crying in the middle of the night, beaten the fuck up. Because I care, which I tell and show you every day. Of _course_ I would help." Aaron tries to control his voice and not to let his frustrations out on Harry because this isn't the time. Aaron doesn't understand what's going on in that head of his, but blowing up on him won't help either.

"Did you agree to help her find me before or after you found out I was involved in a prostitution ring?" Harry's voice is steady—so matter-of-factly. Nonchalant. Aaron's head is spinning because he doesn't know what Harry's trying to prove here.

"Why does it matter?"

"It matters to me. So please answer the question."

Aaron clenches his jaw. "Before. After I agreed, obviously Gemma told me what was happening. Mr. Collin—your private investigator—also filled me in on how you and your family got caught up in that business."

It's the wrong answer, apparently, because Harry's face falls. 

"Harry, what is it?" Aaron asks, softer this time, because he can't stand seeing him like this.

The sadness in Harry's eyes is suddenly replaced by sharp anger. "When you found out that I fucked half the city because my pimp forced me to, is that when you decided that we should 'just be friends'? Ever since I was rescued from the whorehouse, all our late-night conversations and time spent together, all of that was out of _pity_ , wasn't it?"

Aaron's so shocked that he misses his chance to talk before Harry is standing up and laughing humorlessly, tears filling up his eyes. He turns away from Aaron and shakes his head. "Fucking hell. I mean—I understand. I _get_ it, alright? I have a fuck ton of baggage. I'm a fucking slut for god's sake. But we went out on dates when you thought I was an ordinary college student and you said you _liked_ me, that you had _feelings_ for me." Harry spins around, tears falling rapidly down his cheeks now. Gone is the anger, and now he just looks embarrassed and small. "I held onto that. While I was getting fucked high out of my mind by strangers, chained to the fucking wall like an animal—I thought of you. Because someone _liked_ me. Because I felt it, and I liked you back, of course I did. I was naïve enough to think that even after you learn how disgusting I am, you'd still feel the same—"

"Harry, stop," Aaron practically begs as he stands up, unshed tears blurring his vision because everything Harry's saying couldn't be farther from the truth. 

"But you were so nice and kind and—" Harry chokes on a sob. "I'm stupid for assuming but even Gemma thinks there's something between us, and here am I, so fucking stupid, thinking whatever we have now is a continuation of what we had when I was pretending to be someone else. Back when you didn't know the truth."

"Harry, will you listen to me?" Aaron steps closer to him and holds his face in his hands, his heart aching at the pain in Harry's face. "That's not true. I am not disgusted with you, I'm in fucking awe of you. You're so strong and brave and you've been to hell and back but you're still _you_ , you still manage to be so kind and thoughtful and hardworking."

"Stop," Harry cries, trying to push him away but Aaron holds him close. "You don't have to say that shit!"

"I fucking mean it!" Aaron says, startling them both. "I never stopped liking you, Harry. I fucking doubt anything will make me. As a matter of fact—" Aaron laughs, tears rolling down his face, "—I don't just like you, Harry, it's so much deeper than that. I'm so fucking gone for you. I'm _in love_ with you."

The silence that follows those big words is deafening. Harry's eyes are wet with tears, his green eyes shining under the light. His lower lip is trembling as he looks up at Aaron, his hands fisted in the front of Aaron's shirt.

"You _just_ rejected me in the car," Harry says, confusion clouding his eyes. "You just told me that we were just friends. What are you playing at, Aaron?"

Before Harry can think of pulling away again, Aaron crashes their lips together. Harry makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat, but eventually, he becomes pliant in Aaron's arms. The kiss is soft and slow; Aaron wants Harry to feel how much he is loved, to feel how much Aaron wants him, _all_ of him, with all his self-proclaimed flaws.

They pull apart, warm breaths fanning against each other's lips. Aaron mumbles, "I was overthinking in the car. That wasn't a rejection—I thought I was doing the right thing because I felt like I was unconsciously pressuring you into doing something you don't want to do, but I was wrong. I'm sorry. I fucking love you, Harry, I want to kiss you every single second of the day. _That's_ the truth."

Harry's lashes are thick and clumped together with tears. He winds his arms around Aaron's neck and pulls him close for another sweet kiss. "I want to kiss you every single second of the day, too, Aaron," Harry mumbles against his lips.

"Good." Aaron sighs. He starts to smile and then Harry's lips are curling upwards as well. In no time, they're laughing against each other's mouths, hands clutching each other.

"I guess we were both pretty stupid," Harry says.

"Predictable."

Harry bites his bottom lip and smiles up at him. Aaron pulls him closer by his waist. He wants to stay here forever.

"You mean it?" Harry asks, a flicker of uncertainty flashing across his eyes.

Aaron intertwines their hands and kisses the back of Harry's palm. He stares into Harry's eyes and musters up all the honesty he can as he says, "I love you Harry Styles. You are the strongest person I know. I adore every part of you and I don't think I'll ever stop. Whatever doubts are running through that pretty little head of yours, they're just that—doubts. Doubts that couldn't be farther from the truth. I love you, and _nothing_ will change that. Nothing."

Harry sniffles as a new wave of tears come over him. Aaron wipes the wetness off his cheeks with his thumb and kisses his temple. "I'll prove it to you every single day if I have to, love."

"Okay," Harry says quietly, crying still. He buries his face in the crook between Aaron's neck and shoulder. "I believe you."

"And I'll prove it to you still. Every day, my love," Aaron whispers.

Harry hugs him tightly and Aaron hugs him back just as tight. They stand there in the middle of the kitchen, faces wet with tears and hearts bursting—two boys who coincidentally found each other and refused to let go ever since.

"I love you," Aaron tells him again. He won't stop until Harry's used to it.

He feels Harry smile against his neck, and at that moment, it's all that matters.

×××

It's been two weeks since Aaron first told Harry he loves him. Two weeks since they made it official between them. Two weeks of soft kisses and warm puffs of breath under the covers at night, skin grazing skin. They haven't done anything past kissing, and Aaron doesn't plan to change that anytime soon. They're going at Harry's pace, and even if they stay where they are forever, Aaron will still be the happiest man on Earth.

They haven't told anyone yet. Not Gemma, not Mom or Cindy. Tonight, though, Gemma and Raymond are finally bringing Rose to the city and they're to go over to their apartment to meet her. It might be the perfect opportunity to tell Gemma.

Aaron doesn't know how Gemma will react. He knows she's protective of her brother, so it's possible that she'll think that he's taking advantage of Harry, especially in his vulnerable state, and Aaron's prepared to prove her wrong. It still makes him nervous, though, because the last thing he wants is for Gemma to feel somewhat betrayed by him.

Hands latch onto his shoulder, and then Harry's voice is in his ear, "Relax, Gemma's gonna be fine with it."

Aaron turns away from the sink mirror where he was fixing his hair to face Harry. He rests his palms on Harry's hips and squeezes them slightly. "I'll try. Sorry. She can be pretty intense, you know."

"Oh I know," Harry says with a raised eyebrow.

Aaron laughs. He runs his hands down the back of Harry's silk button-up. He's wearing the new pair of dark jeans they bought last weekend, with a pair of brown boots to finish off the look. "You look beautiful, love."

"Thanks," Harry says with a dimpled smile. He runs his hands down Aaron's chest. "So do you."

Aaron drops a kiss onto his lips before pulling away quickly, making Harry pout. Aaron laughs. "C'mon, we can't be late. Little Rose is waiting for us."

Harry lets go of him and they leave the apartment. Once they're inside Aaron's car, Harry says, "Is it weird that I'm nervous to meet a six-year-old girl?"

"Not at all, sweetheart. It would be weirder if you weren't, because that six-year-old kid is Gemma Styles' daughter." Aaron grins.

Harry groans. "How am I going to manage _two_ Gemmas?"

"You'll do just fine. The Gemmas happen to love you a lot." Aaron pulls out of the parking lot.

"That is true."

Aaron leaves one hand on the steering wheel and takes Harry's hand with his free one, resting their intertwined hands on Harry's thigh. Harry messes around with the radio until he finds a station playing 80's songs. They sing along on their drive, Aaron's nervousness ebbing away slightly.

××× 

Rose, as expected, is a miniature version of her mother. The only thing she got from Raymond was his olive-colored skin, but other than that, she's completely a clone of Gemma.

Harry's practically vibrating with nervousness when they first stepped through the door into Gemma's apartment. The little family's standing there at the doorway—Rose clutching her mother and father's hands, rosy-cheeked and grinning.

"Uncle Harry!"

The little girl's arms are wrapped around Harry's thin legs in a flash, giggling into his jeans where her face is squished up against him. Harry has a mix of surprise and uncertainty on his face as he looks around the room, face white, as though he's unsure of how to go about the situation.

Aaron runs a hand down his spine and smiles at him encouragingly while Gemma and Raymond give him a nod, as though to say "go ahead, don't fret."

The tension melts from Harry's shoulders. He manages a small smile before dropping to the ground in a crouch so he's face to face with Rose now. He pulls her into a proper hug, a large smile booming on his face. "Hello, Rose, I’m happy to finally meet you.”

After that, things go smoothly. The five of them sit down at the table to eat, exchanging stories and laughter. Harry seems to have gotten over his initial nervousness about meeting Rose and is now fondly wiping off chocolate from the corner of her mouth with a napkin. It also seems that he’s no longer uneasy around Raymond like he used to be in the beginning—they’re even talking about work and asking each other how they’re doing. Raymond is set to leave his job at the café soon because he’s looking for a job with a higher salary, especially since Rose is with them now.

“How long is Rose going to be here?” Harry asks as Rose leaps off her seat and goes to the living room to play with a few toys littered on the ground. Harry follows her movement with a smile on his lips.

“Permanently, of course. We’re looking around for schools we can enroll her in.”

Harry nods and looks down at his lap, but Aaron can see the relieved smile on his face. Harry’s been worried that Gemma and Raymond were only in the city for him and would return back to their home soon. Just like Harry told him before, Aaron knows that it’s a relief for Harry to know that his family will be staying close to him, out of their own free will and not simply because they think it’s their responsibility to look after Harry. Harry always needs that type of reassurance.

"I hear you got a job at a bakery," Raymond says. "How is it so far?"

Harry smiles slightly. "It's great, actually. The owner, Daphne—she's very kind and sweet. She lets me bring home leftover pastries every day. It's not a tiring job, either. Customers come in spread out throughout the day, so there are never any long lines to get stressed over."

Aaron's a witness to how having his own job and his own money has made Harry happier and more content. Despite Aaron's protests, Harry pays his half of the rent and also buys groceries for them when he can. Harry's also been learning a bit of baking with Daphne's help, and Aaron's only more than happy to be his taste-tester whenever Harry tries out some of the recipes at home. Overall, Aaron thinks that Harry taking a job at the bakery is one of his best decisions yet.

A few moments later, though, the smile drops off Harry's face when Gemma brings up another topic.

“Also,” Gemma says after clearing her throat, “Mom’s being discharged from rehab soon. I want Rose to meet her, too.”

Harry tenses at the mention of his mother. Aaron takes his hand under the table and squeezes. Aaron doesn’t know much about Anne other than the things Gemma has told him. He does know, however, that she failed to protect her son because she was far too deep in her own problems. She was blind to the pain Harry was going through, and during the time Harry was in Logan Peyton’s grip, she manipulated to believe that they were a couple. Perhaps that way, it was easier for Anne to believe that her son was well-taken care of so she didn’t need to do it herself. Aaron doesn’t know how to feel about her, especially since he knows what drug addiction can do to a person. He can’t pretend to know what it’s like, and he also can’t judge her based on the few things he knows. But even though Harry’s never opened up to him about his mother, Aaron can easily tell that he isn’t the biggest fan of hers, either.

“Harry,” Gemma starts, “let’s give her a chance, yeah?”

“Where will she be staying?” Harry asks dully. “When she gets out of rehab, where will she be staying?”

Gemma and Raymond exchange looks, but they don’t say anything.

“Mom’s been in and out of rehab so many times. She usually only manages a few months before she’s relapsing again. I assumed before that she stayed with some friends, but that’s obviously not healthy for her. I’d wager that her ‘friends’ are a bunch of drug addicts as well.” Harry states tiredly.

“We’ll think of a solution,” Gemma says, pursing her lips. “We’ve still got a few weeks.”

Harry nods, arms crossed over his chest. An awkward silence hangs between them for a bit, so Aaron clears his throat and says, “So, Gemma. How’s work at the office?”

She smiles slightly at that. “Alright. The boss is intense, but I manage just fine.”

They spend a few more minutes at the table, eating and chatting. When Gemma mentions that she’s going to clear up the table, Harry and Aaron look at each other. They have an announcement to make.

“Uh.” Aaron clears his throat, swallowing nervously. He can see Harry fighting back a smile out of the corner of his eyes. Harry keeps their hands locked under the table and tightens his hold. “Harry and I want to tell you something.”

Gemma raises an eyebrow and puts the plates back down on the table, her eyes flicking between them curiously. Even Raymond looks intrigued.

“Well? Out with it, then,” Gemma says with a laugh.

Aaron ignores how fast his heart is beating and turns to Harry to smile at him. Harry’s watching him with that soft look in his eyes, biting his lower lip. Aaron recognizes a hint of amusement in Harry’s bright green eyes as though he's enjoying Aaron being a nervous wreck a bit too much.

“Harry and I are dating,” Aaron blurts out. There. It’s done.

Whatever reaction he was expecting from Gemma, it wasn’t this, because Gemma merely rolls her eyes and sighs. “Jesus. Thought you were going to tell us you’ve gotten Harry pregnant or something.”

“Gems,” Harry scolds, though he fails to hide his smile.

Aaron looks at Raymond and finds that he’s also smiling. Confused, he turns to Gemma and says, “So...you’re not mad?”

Gemma honks out a laugh. "Mad? Why would I be mad?"

"Well, I don't know."

"I've known that you were in love with my little brother ever since you helped us in trying to find him. It was an easy conclusion to make, especially considering the fact that you called me every day to ask about the progress of the investigation. I knew Harry had a soft spot for you, too. This," she says gestures between their joined hands which are now on top of the table, something Aaron doesn't even remember doing, "has been a long time coming."

Aaron lets out a relieved breath, making Gemma laugh. Harry kisses his cheek sweetly, making him want to melt. Aaron meets his eyes and mouths "love you." Harry's grin widens.

Gemma gets him alone later when they're watching a movie in the living room and Aaron goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Gemma follows him with a raised chin and stands beside him in front of the counter.

"I know I said I'm happy for you," she starts, her eyes sharp, "but as his older sister, it's my responsibility to ensure that he's safe and happy. You're human, you make mistakes—but so help me god if you do anything to make Harry upset, I'm not going to let you get away with it so easily."

Aaron believes every word. He's relieved, actually, that he isn't the only one looking out for Harry, and that Gemma will always be ready to beat people's asses if they mess with Harry—even if it's Aaron himself.

"I love Harry," Aaron says sincerely, smiling softly. "I'd rather jump off a bridge before hurting Harry on purposes. I promise I'll take care of him, I know the shit he's been through. From now on, he only deserves the best. And I'll make sure of that."

Gemma keeps her laser-focused sharp stare on him for a second longer before a smile breaks out on her face. She pats his shoulder. "You better."


	17. Chapter 17

Harry has a very particular shower routine. He has a particular brand of body wash, soap, shampoo, conditioner, and loofah.

Once, Aaron sent Gemma a text asking her about this. To his surprise, she said that she didn't notice anything odd about Harry's showering routine when he used to live with them. She said that he took longer in the bathroom than an average person, but Harry never demanded for specific brands of soap and the like.

Right now, Harry's been suspiciously quiet inside the bathroom. Aaron always sits at the kitchen counter and listens to the shower running while Harry's inside ever since Harry opened up to him and told him that he felt safer if Aaron was close by while he was in the shower. Aaron didn't question it, and since then, he sat a mere distance away from the closed bathroom door each time.

Today, though, Aaron hasn't heard the water running in about half an hour. Harry doesn't like it when Aaron talks to him through the door, so he's a bit hesitant to check up on Harry in case it annoys him. However, Aaron can't stop pacing back and forth, glancing at the bathroom door and waiting for some kind of sign that Harry's alright in there.

"Harry?" Aaron finally gives in. He sets down his coffee and walks to the bathroom door, knocking lightly. "Baby, is everything alright in there?"

For a terrifying second, Aaron hears no response. He's already thinking of the best way to take the door down when he hears it—a small, muffled whimper.

"Harry?" he calls out again, more urgently this time. "Please open the door."

"It's not working." He hears Harry's rough, garbled voice. Another sniffle. And then, "Why isn't it working?"

Heartbeat speeding up in his chest, Aaron says in the calmest voice he can muster, "Harry, open the door, alright? I'll help you out with whatever the problem is in there."

"You bought the wrong one!"

Aaron runs his fingers through his hair. "What?"

"It's the wrong body wash! It's not fucking working!"

It doesn't take long until Harry's full-on sobbing, his cries echoing inside the bathroom and creeping out into the rest of the apartment through the cracks of the door. Aaron's chest aches because he can't hold him right now, so he jiggles the locked doorknob and tries again. "Harry, I'll help you fix it. Please open the door, babe."

"Fuck off!"

He's only ever heard of Harry's episodes through Gemma, but now that it's happening right in front of him, he feels frozen. It's like every advice Gemma ever gave him and every single research he'd done regarding trauma victims went out the window. It's all so real and tangible now—Harry, the person he loves the most in this world, has been hurt so bad that even months after being rescued from his captors, they still had their claws sunk deep into him.

It's not easy, Aaron knows. He knows it's going to be hard, and he's prepared for that. Harry needs people who care for him, and right now, Aaron is the closest. He has to handle this well.

"Harry," he says softly, pressing his ear against the door. He hears a quiet, muffled sob. "It's me—Aaron. I just want to help out. Whatever you're feeling right now, it's going to be okay. We'll get you out of the bathroom, and maybe I'll make you a warm cup of tea, how does that sound? Or are you in the mood for hot chocolate? We can even watch that new animated movie we were talking about."

Aaron's talkativeness comes in handy during times like these. Harry needs someone to distract him and bring him back to the present when his mind takes him back to dark places. Aaron can't physically pull him out from the dark abysses of his mind, but with the right words and tone, he can slowly coax Harry back to where he really is. He can help clear the panic and irrational fears clouding his mind. Or at least, Aaron tries.

Unfortunately, Harry doesn't respond. Aaron chews nervously at his nails. It doesn't sound like Harry's doing anything aside from sitting in there, and Harry's never shown any signs of being suicidal, but Aaron still worries. He worries every day that he'll wake up and Harry won't be there. It's a reasonable fear to have—but he won't let himself entertain it, because the mere thought is enough to make him feel queasy and lightheaded.

He's pacing back and forth, about to take his phone out and call Gemma for help when the lock sounds and the door finally swings open. Aaron practically runs towards Harry who's got three towels wrapped around him—one around his hips, one over his shoulders, and one in his hair. 

Aaron takes his face in his hands and sighs in relief. "Baby, you scared me—"

"Sorry," Harry mumbles, staring down at his feet. He scrunches his face, as though he's trying hard to make sense of something. "The body wash wasn't—it didn't feel right. It wasn't working."

Aaron looks down at Harry's arms and finds them reddish and raw, like usual, from how hard Harry scrubs them every day. He swallows past the lump in his throat and gently kisses Harry's cheek. "We'll buy the correct body wash, alright? We can go to the grocery store later or early tomorrow so you can choose it yourself."

Harry's eyes are glassy and slightly vacant when he looks up at him with a nod. Aaron wraps an arm around his shoulder and leads him to his bedroom.

Aaron's about to give Harry some space when Harry's quiet voice cuts through the air, "Help me dress?"

He stops in his tracks and turns to face him, nodding without a second thought. He closes the bedroom door and rummages through Harry's closet until he finds a soft cotton jumper, a pair of black joggers, and boxers. Harry's sitting on the edge of his bed, still wrapped up in all of his towels when Aaron finally walks towards him.

Something Aaron noticed ever since Harry moved in is that he isn't shy about his body. He kind of assumed that after what he's been through, Harry would be more conscious when it came to nudity. He expected Harry to keep himself wrapped up, his skin hidden from other people's gazes, including himself. That isn't the case, though. If anything, Harry walks around half-naked daily, and isn't the slightest bit conscious about covering up his body. Aaron isn't sure if it's because he's living with Aaron specifically, who's his boyfriend and someone he trusts, or if there's a deeper, psychological explanation to it.

Harry stands up and removes the towel around his hips, dropping them unceremoniously to the floor. Aaron wordlessly sits on the foot of the bed and helps him into his boxers. This isn't the first time they've done this, and unlike the first time, Aaron isn't overthinking his every move. He knows now that sometimes, Harry just wants to be taken care of, and Aaron only ever wants to take care of him, so it's not a problem at all.

Once Harry's fully-dressed, Aaron dries his hair with the towel as best as he can. Harry gives him a soft smile and remains quiet when Aaron grabs a comb from the nightstand and gently combs his hair.

"Gemma called me earlier," Harry says after a while. His back is pressed against Aaron's chest as Aaron continues to work through the tangles in his hair. Aaron loves how the longer he plays with his hair, Harry's body becomes less rigid, until he's practically melting into Aaron's arms, warm and sated.

"Yeah? What did she say?"

"That Logan's been taken into custody."

Aaron knows this too because Gemma texted him this morning. He kind of guessed that Gemma told Harry as well. "I heard." Aaron presses a kiss to his temple, caressing his arm. "That's good news, isn't it?"

Harry doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, he's slowly turning around to face Aaron. Harry folds his legs and scoots closer to him on the bed. "I found out yesterday. The first thing I felt was—relief, you know? These past few months, there was this I was fucking scared that my family and I still weren't safe because he was still out there. But then—" Harry bites his lower lip and looks up at Aaron with wet eyes. "I can't tell you. You're gonna hate me."

"I'm not," Aaron says firmly, taking Harry's hands and squeezing them comfortingly. "I promised that I'd listen to whatever you want to tell me, and I meant it. There's no judgement between us, Harry. I promise you that."

Harry nods and looks down. Aaron lets him take his time. Then, Harry sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. "I dreamed of him. Of Logan. Of when—of when we had sex."

Aaron nods understandingly, urging him to continue. "Did that—did that scare you? Is that why you were crying in the shower?"

"That's the weird part," Harry says, and now there are tears racing down his cheeks. Aaron reaches forward and wipes them away with his thumb. "I—It was almost like a pleasant memory. There were times when Logan was good to me, you know? Sometimes, I wonder if he really cared about me at some point. He was a bad person, but he was also the only person who gave me freedom by letting me live in his apartment. And he fed me and took care of me. He wasn't a good man, I know that. I just—" Harry shakes his head and takes a shaky breath. "During those times, when everything was so dark and cruel, he was like the lesser evil sometimes. Which doesn't make sense because _he's_ the one who kidnapped me and forced me into shit—fuck, I'm not making any sense right now."

Aaron pulls Harry into his arms and rubs his back. Harry sniffles against his T-Shirt and mumbles, "Basically, I felt relieved but also—sad. I don't know why. I know I shouldn't have sympathy for him, but I do, and it makes me feel so disgusted with myself. So dirty. Wanted to feel clean again."

"You're not dirty for feeling whatever you're feeling," Aaron says, mulling his words over. "You were barely seventeen when you were taken. It's normal that you tried looking for someone to rely on, to trust, even. Perhaps that turned out to be Logan."

Aaron sees Logan nothing less of the devil himself, but he understands that Harry's circumstances were different. Harry was young, alone, and scared. Logan was powerful and manipulative. Harry was vulnerable.

"It's weird, you know," Harry says, pulling away from their embrace to sit up. He looks out the window. "Logan always told me what to do. For, like, three years. It's weird that I can decide for myself now."

"Well, you better get used to it, love," Aaron says with a smile, "because it's not changing anytime soon."

Harry gives a small smile, but his eyes are sad. "It's so much work. I have so much catching up to do. I'm already tired and I haven't even started."

Aaron leans in to kiss him softly. "I'm here. Gemma, Raymond, and Rose are, too. So are Steven, Casey, and Tommy. Whenever you're tired, you rest. We'll help you fill in the spaces in between, yeah?"

Harry presses his lips together and leans his head on Aaron's shoulder. He whispers, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, babe."

They sit there until the sun settles into the horizon, pressed against each other, sleepy and warm in each other's arms.

×××

A week later, Harry and Aaron go on a date. It's spontaneous and ridiculous, really—they're walking home from Gemma's apartment after visiting Rose when they come across a park and then Harry promptly announces that they should have their third ever date right then and there.

Who was Aaron to turn him down?

Aaron bought sandwiches and ice cream while Harry looked for a good spot in the park. They sit down under the shade of a tree, splayed out on the grass as they fed each other food—all soft eyes and warm smiles.

After eating, they hold hands as they walk through the park, walking past kids chasing each other and couples and friends laughing amongst themselves by the fountain.

"Do you remember when you fell asleep during our first date?" Aaron says out of the blue, grinning when Harry turns to him with narrowed eyes.

"The past is behind us, mister."

Aaron smirks. "Mhm. I didn't tell you then, but you actually drooled on my shoulder."

Harry gapes at him, affronted. "I did not!"

"How would you know you didn't? You were asleep!" This earns him a playful punch to his shoulder, making him laugh. He takes Harry's wrists and brings them up to his face so he can kiss his delicate skin. "Alright, no need to get physical, babe."

Harry rolls his eyes, but there's a light dusting of pink on the top of his cheeks. "Shut up."

Aaron chuckles quietly and pulls him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. Harry melts into his side as they continue down the path, the sky above them turning into an explosion of yellows and pinks and oranges as the sun gradually dips into the horizon.

"By the way," Aaron says, ignoring the nervousness that washes through him, "Mom and Cindy are inviting us for dinner this weekend."

Even before he and Harry became official, Mom has already been interested in Harry since he's all her son can seemingly talk about. Aaron would be embarrassed about it if he wasn't so far gone for the boy beside him, whose single smile could make his entire day.

Of course, Harry gives him that exact smile—a wide, dorky grin revealing his perfect teeth, dimples popping out, and his eyes shining—which warms Aaron's chest.

"I'd love to meet them," Harry says. Then, his smile falters. "Um, do they, like, know? About...you know. Me."

Aaron bites his bottom lip. Gently, he says, "Mom knows you were missing for a while, but I never told her anything beyond that. It's not my business to tell her that."

Harry slows down his strides until they're just standing along the side of the path. Harry's eyes are dim now, their brightness gone as he nervously tugs at his hair. Aaron gently takes his hand, untangles it from his hair, and clutches it in his hand between their chests.

Now, Harry looks seconds away from crying. He doesn't look at Aaron when he says, "I don't know, Aaron. She—I mean, I don't think your mom would want a prostitute anywhere near your little sister.

Aaron's heart breaks. Harry talks about beinf a prostitute in the present tense sometimes, as though he forgets it's all in the past now. Aaron has to clench his jaw and look away from how small Harry looks at the moment, his shoulders curled inwards and his eyes wet with unshed tears. He takes a deep breath and pulls Harry into a hug. He says sadly, "Baby, please don't think like that."

Harry pulls away, frowning. "I'm being realistic. It's not like it's a bad thing—it's only natural that your mom would be cautious. It only means that she cares about her children."

Aaron backs Harry up against a tree trunk so they're not standing in the way of people jogging past them. He tucks a loose curl behind Harry's ear. "I promise you, Harry, Mom won't think differently of you if you decide to tell her about your past. She's open-minded and kind." He smiles. "In fact, she's already pretty much in love with you just from the things I've told her about you."

Harry's eyebrows remains furrowed as he peers up at him from beneath his lashes. "You told her things? Such as?"

Aaron softly swipes his thumb over Harry's right cheekbone. "That you're the kindest, loveliest, and most beautiful person I've ever met. Also that you're strong and brave and hardworking.

Harry's face softens a bit. He reaches a hand and touches Aaron's stubble-covered jaw. "I appreciate that."

Aaron hums. "In other words, you've already won Mom over and you haven't even properly met yet."

Harry rolls his eyes fondly. "I doubt it."

"Are you saying I'm wrong, Mister Styles?"

"I'm _saying_ ," Harry says pointedly, fixing the collar of Aaron's shirt, "that you're biased because I'm your boyfriend. Of course you're going to think that I'm marvelous at literally everything."

"Which is just quite simply a fact."

Harry sighs, laughing when he realizes he's not going to win this. He bites back his smile and smooths down the front of Aaron's shirt with both hands. "Alright, alright. How about this: we just go to the damn dinner and see how it goes, hmm?"

Aaron smiles. "Sounds good, babe."

×××

The drive to Aaron's hometown from the city will take a couple of hours. They're currently in the apartment, Aaron fresh from the shower while Harry is in his own bedroom, probably getting dressed as well.

Aaron's deciding between black or blue jeans when his phone rings from where it's sitting on his bedside table. He glimpses the caller ID—Mom—before accepting the call.

"Hey," he greets.

"Hi, Ronnie. Are you on your way here?"

"We're just about to leave the apartment." Aaron settles for the black jeans and starts looking for a white top. "How's everything there?"

"Oh, just fine," Mom says a bit breathlessly. "I'm preparing dinner and your sister is absolutely no help." Aaron hears a faint voice in the background saying "Not true!" 

He laughs. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised."

"Thomas is going to have dinner with us as well," she says, and Aaron catches the slight nervousness in her voice. "I'm going to meet the special person in your life tonight and I want you to meet mine, too."

Aaron throws on a long-sleeved peach shirt and grabs his leather jacket off the back of the chair on his way out of his room. "Oh? Is it getting serious between you two?"

"That's the plan," she says with a laugh. "But we'll see how it goes."

Aaron hums as he walks to the fridge. Harry still hasn't left his room, so Aaron decides to prepare a bowl of cereal for himself in the meantime. The drive is going to be a long one, and while they're fully prepared with sandwiches and chips and fruits (all prepared by Harry, the sweet boy), Aaron wants to have a bit more energy because he's going to be sitting behind the wheel for hours straight.

"By the way," Mom says, "why don't you two spend the night here, hm? You're both going to be tired from the drive and I don't want to send you driving when I'd rather you rest."

Aaron sits at the kitchen counter and takes a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His mother has a point, of course, but Aaron's not sure if Harry is comfortable with sleeping at an unfamiliar house. So he says, "I'll ask Harry about it."

"Alright," she says. "I'm gonna go back to cooking before I burn something. Drive safe, Ronnie!"

"Will do. Bye, Mom."

Harry emerges from his room about ten minutes later. Aaron can't help the smile that blooms on his face when he sees his boyfriend—he's wearing dark skinnies, brown heeled boots, and a cream silk top. His hair is noticeably longer now, curling just above his shoulders. Harry blushes from Aaron's gaze.

"You look beautiful, babe," Aaron says, standing up and walking towards him to wrap his arms around Harry's narrow waist. 

Harry wraps his arms around his neck and rests their foreheads together. He bites his lip, then says quietly, "I'm nervous."

"No need to be," Aaron says gently, swaying them a bit. "Mom just called, she said she's very excited. She even offered that we stay there for the night so we can rest before driving back."

Harry nods slowly. "That's practical."

"We don't have to, of course. We can leave early instead—"

"No, no, it's fine." Harry smiles tightly. "Um, should we pack some clothes?"

"Pajamas, just to be sure. I don't think I have any more clothes back there. If there are any, those were clothes I owned in high school and they're probably too small."

"Okay," Harry chirps. He looks over Aaron's shoulder towards the kitchen counter and spots his half-full bowl of cereal. He kisses Aaron's cheek. "Finish eating, I'll get our clothes."

About fifteen minutes later, they're walking hand in hand through the parking lot. Aaron's carrying a tote bag that contains their food and bottles of water. They get into the car and Aaron starts driving immediately, not wanting to be late.

They're quiet for a while, but it's a comfortable type of silence. Aaron has one hand on the steering wheel and another clutching Harry's hand over the console. Aaron connects his phone to the car's speakers and plays the songs from his playlist.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "I remember when you played those songs for me. We shared a single pair of airpods at Caffeinated."

Aaron smiles at the memory. That was one of the first few times they hung out, and Aaron can still remember being nervous as fuck. He already liked Harry then, and he wanted to impress him and keep him entertained. Even back then, Aaron got the sense that Harry needed all the distraction and cheering up that he could get.

They've come so far. Now, they're holding hands on the drive up to Aaron's house so he can properly introduce his boyfriend to his family. Aaron feels like the luckiest man alive. He squeezes Harry's hand and glances at him to find the younger boy already watching him, his eyes soft.

"You remember," Aaron says.

Harry laughs lightly. "Of course I do. During those times...you were one of the few things keeping me sane."

Aaron lifts their joined hands to kiss Harry's knuckles. 

"I'm still upset about the cassette tapes you got me for Christmas," Harry says wistfully.

Aaron frowns. "What do you mean?"

"It was broken before I could try it out."

"How did that happen?"

"Logan found it. He thought a client was giving me gifts. He was strict about stuff like that."

Aaron presses his lips together and keeps his eyes on the road ahead. He's still getting used to how casual Harry talks about his time under Logan. Perhaps it's better this way, but Aaron can't fight the quiet rage that boils under his skin every time that man is mentioned. However, Aaron knows that Harry needs to open up to people, and he's honored that Harry trusts him enough to do so. He'll readily listen to whatever Harry wants to share with him, because that's what Harry needs right now.

"We'll get a new one. A bigger set, yeah?" Aaron says, smiling. "I found those at a CD shop near campus. Should be easy to find them again."

"You don't have to," Harry says softly. "You can just play stuff from your phone. It's the same songs anyway."

“Or I can put them in your phone, if you want?” Aaron says. He got Harry a phone a few weeks back, and despite Harry’s protests, Aaron insisted and managed to get him to finally use it. It’s for the both of them, really, because Aaron likes to know that Harry can call him whenever he needs him, especially when he’s working at the bakery. A couple of times now, Harry has called him simply because there weren’t many customers at the shop and he wanted someone to talk to. 

Harry hums. “Yeah, that sounds alright.”

Aaron smiles at him as a response, and throughout the rest of the ride, they hum along to the music, and the easiness in which Harry mouths the lyrics of Aaron’s favorite songs warms his chest.

×××

By the time they're pulling up in front of Aaron's home, the sun has hidden behind the clouds and all that remains inside their tote bag of snacks are empty plastic wrappers and half-full water bottles. Aaron smiles when he notices that not much has changed since the last time he visited, which was a few months before senior year. Mom clearly kept the front lawn well-kempt with daisies blooming and the bushes trimmed to perfection. The tree Aaron remembers climbing up as a kid now has a swing tied to its branch—something he believes must be for Cindy's entertainment.

Aaron turns to Harry and smiles. Harry fell asleep about half an hour ago. Right now, Harry's body is curled against the door with the side of his face pressed against the glass. Aaron leans over and tenderly brushes a loose strand of hair out of his face before dropping a kiss onto his temple.

"Time to wake up sleeping beauty," Aaron murmurs, shaking him gently.

Harry groans. He opens an eye, and after a beat, he gasps. "I fell asleep!"

"Yes, Harry. I'm very aware of that." Aaron chuckles.

Harry rubs his eyes and looks around. His eyes widen. "Oh my god. We're here."

"Yup. Are you ready to go inside?"

"My heart feels like it'll jump out of my chest."

Aaron takes his hand. "I told you, they're going to love you, alright? Trust me."

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, resting his head on the backrest. He squeezes Aaron's hand. "Alright. I trust you."

"Good." Aaron pecks his lips. "Tell me when you're ready, yeah? We can stay here in the meanti—"

"Ronnie! Is that you?"

Of course, that's when Mom appears in the front yard, squinting from the distance as if to see them more clearly. Aaron sighs while Harry lets out a quiet laugh.

"Yes, Mom. It's us. Give us a sec!" he tells his mother before turning back to Harry with an apologetic smile.

"Ronnie?" Harry says, tilting his head to the side. His dimples make an appearance as he grins. "I love that nickname."

Aaron groans. "Please no."

"Why? It's adorable!"

Aaron rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. "Fine. It's not so bad, I guess."

Harry peeks over him and through the window. Aaron follows his gaze and realizes that he's looking at his mom.

"Your mom's waiting for us," Harry says.

"She can continue waiting. Let's stay here as long as—"

"No, c'mon _Ronnie_ , that would be rude. I want to make a good impression!" Harry says, unbuckling his seatbelt. He opens the passenger door and stops just as he's about to step out. He turns back to Aaron when he realizes he hasn't moved at all and narrows his eyes. "Well? C'mon!"

Aaron can't help but laugh. He can tell that Harry's nervous energy is turning into adrenaline. "Alright, alright."

Mom is waiting for them in front of the door as they walk through the lawn. Aaron takes Harry's hand halfway there. He feels Harry stiffen slightly, but thankfully, Harry firmly holds his hand back and doesn't pull away.

"Hello, boys," Mom greets them cheerfully, her eyes flitting between the two of them. Her gaze settles on Harry, offering a soft smile. "How are you, sweetie? It's nice to finally meet you!"

Harry glances at Aaron quickly, nervousness apparent in his eyes, but he manages a charming smile as he turns back to Mom and offers his hand. "I'm great, Ma'am. Thank you for inviting me over."

Mom gently brushes Harry's offered hand away and pulls him into a hug instead. "My pleasure. Now, you can call me Linda."

When Harry pulls away from the hug, he looks a bit overwhelmed and flushed. Aaron immediately steps closer to him and throws an arm over his shoulders, pulling him flush against his side.

"Nice to meet you, Linda," Harry says with a dimpled smile.

"Is that Ronnie's boyfriend?" A voice comes from inside the house. Sure enough, Cindy is practically pushing Mom out of the way to get a better look at them. She's wearing a comfortable sweater and hair is done up in a bun. Cindy's smile turns into a grin when she sees Harry. "Hi! I'm Cindy, Aaron's sister."

"Hello, Cindy. I've heard a lot about you," Harry says, grinning.

"Only good things, I hope," Cindy throws a suspicious glance towards Aaron.

Aaron laughs. "How about we all go inside now? My feet are starting to hurt."

"That's a sign of aging," Cindy quips.

Harry snorts quietly while Aaron rolls his eyes, but at least they're finally led into the house that smells of something tender and mouth-watering.

"I hope you boys are hungry because I've prepared a full meal tonight!" Mom says, her eyes bright with excitement.

They sit down on the comfy couch in the living room while Mom drags Cindy along with her to the kitchen to help her prepare the table. Harry tries standing up to help out, but Mom is quick to insist that they should relax for a bit and leave the work to her. Defeated, Harry sits back down with a small pout beside Aaron.

"No pouting, you're doing amazing," Aaron says, keeping his arm around Harry's shoulder while his other hand is splayed on Harry's thigh.

"You really think so?" Harry asks, his eyes all wide eyes and hopeful that Aaron just has to take his face in his hands and softly kiss him. 

"I know so," Aaron mumbles once their foreheads are pressed together and there's an inch of space between their faces. Harry is looking up at him with the corner of his lips curled upwards.

"They're very sweet and welcoming," Harry says, shifting on the couch so he can slightly rest his head on Aaron's shoulder. Harry looks at the wall above the furnace where several picture frames are hanging—pictures from when Aaron was a kid, to when he's holding a crying Cindy in his noodly arms, and a few family pictures with just the three of them.

"I'm very lucky to have them," Aaron says, idly playing with Harry's hair.

"You deserve them," Harry says.

It's not long until someone knocks on the door and Mom practically skips towards it, combing her hair with her fingers as she opens the door and welcomes Thomas into the house. Thomas is a lean, tall man with kind eyes and an even kinder smile. They exchange introductions, and Aaron can't help but smirk at his mom's slight blush when she introduces him as her boyfriend.

When Thomas and Harry shake hands, only then does it cross Aaron's mind that Harry might not be comfortable with a stranger. Thankfully, Harry seems content as long as he's glued to Aaron's side, quietly joining in the conversation here and there. Aaron appreciates how much effort Harry's clearly putting into this, how much he genuinely wants to get to know the important people in Aaron's life. He gets a bit teary-eyed as he watches them talk and laugh with each other, because these are some of the people who mean the absolute world to him, and they're all happy and comfortable and _safe_.

It's all Aaron can ask for.

It's finally time for dinner, so they all move to the dining area and sit down at the dining table which is overflowing with fried chicken, pot roast, a salad, and apple pie for dessert. Aaron and Harry sit next to each other, Mom and Thomas across them, while Cindy looks way too pleased to be sitting at the head of the table.

The night goes by quickly and pleasantly. Mom doesn't interrogate Harry like Aaron knew she wouldn't. She merely refilled his plate whenever he touches even one-fourth of it and keeps on insisting that Harry should eat as much as he can. Conversation is mostly led by Cindy who has about a thousand and one stories about her ballet classes and the apparent feud going on between different friend groups. Thomas talks about working at a fishing shop, which leads to Harry casually mentioning that he works at a bakery.

This leads to Mom saying, "Does that mean you know how to bake, Harry?"

Harry shakes his head. "Oh, no. I'm still learning—"

"He's absolutely amazing," Aaron cuts in, grinning when Harry gives him an incredulous look. "He bakes a lot at the apartment and I get to taste it all, and to me, he's an amazing baker."

"I have a cookbook somewhere in the cupboards containing some really good cake recipes, do remind me to find it and give it to you," Mom tells Harry.

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"I insist, dear. Aaron never touches any cooking books and I doubt he'll ever voluntarily learn to cook," Mom says, making Aaron gasp in fake offense. Mom ignores him and smiles at Harry. "You, however, seem like you'd enjoy cooking or baking."

Harry smiles. "I do."

"Good," she chirps, suddenly turning to Aaron and pointing a finger at him. "I hope Harry's interests will rub off on you, mister."

" _Rub_ off, for sure," Cindy mutters, snickering. This earns her a pinch on the arm from Mom, while Aaron and Harry try hard not to laugh.

"No dessert for you," Mom tells her.

"But _Mom_ _!"_

"Give the poor girl her dessert," Thomas says with a laugh.

"Exactly! Mom, listen to your boyfriend!" Cindy says.

While the three of them continue messing about, Aaron takes Harry's hand that's resting on the table. Harry catches his gaze, his smile soft as he intertwines their fingers.

"You having a good time?" Aaron asks quietly, so only Harry can hear him.

Harry nods, biting his lower lip. "A _great_ time."

"That's good." Aaron can't be happier at the moment. He's at home, his stomach full with delicious food, surrounded by people he loves, with Harry's hand in his.

It feels like the start of something new, of something good. He wants Harry by his side through it all.

×××

Aaron's childhood bedroom is small and cozy with a twin sized bed pressed up against the wall beside the small window. Aaron remembers the time when this room felt like it was his entire world. He'd be locked up in here during the summer, spending hours and hours on end strumming his guitar, trying to learn the latest songs released by his favorite bands. He'd always wanted his very own drum set, but Mom would never allow it because Cindy was only a baby then, and he was already making enough noise as it was.

Now, he leads Harry inside, the younger boy's eyes wide with wonder as he looks around. He snorts when his eyes land on Aaron's superman bed sheets and pillowcases. 

"What? I'm a DC fan," Aaron huffs, resting his hands on Harry's hips from behind.

Harry laughs and turns around to face him, his eyes filled with mirth. "Oh? Is it because you love the plot or because Superman has amazing abs?"

Aaron pretends to think, then says, "Actually, he was my gay awakening, so do with that information what you will."

Harry giggles, wrapping his arms around Aaron's neck and leaning in so his breath brushes against Aaron's ear and down his neck. They've had a few glasses of wine downstairs, and Aaron can smell it in his breath. Perhaps that's why Harry's more relaxed, his muscles loose and plant.

"Maybe I'll get myself a Superman costume," Harry purrs into his ear. When Aaron doesn't say anything (because frankly, the image of Harry in a tight outfit is quite too much for his slightly drunk mind), Harry cackles.

"Shut up," Aaron grumbles, walking them towards the wall. 

"Do you have any kinks, _Ronnie_ _?"_

"Harry," he says exasperatedly as he presses Harry against the wall, rubbing soothing circles into his hip bones. While he enjoys this version of Harry—playful, fun, giggly—he's not really sure how to go about the topic of sex with Harry.

They've never gone past kissing, maybe even heatedly making out a couple of times, but every time Aaron gets even slightly hard from Harry's warm lips and soft skin, guilt claws at him from the inside. It's just impossible not to think about the fact that Harry lost three years of his life and was forced to sell his body. He _knows_ it's different between them, because they're actually boyfriends and Harry clearly trusts him, but Aaron doesn't trust himself not to mess up or cross any lines. He loves Harry and cares for his safety and happiness so much that the mere thought of accidentally hurting him or triggering him is enough to make his chest tight.

"What? Was just asking," Harry slurs slightly, his hands running up and down Aaron's chest. "Don't be shy, I'm very open-minded."

Aaron chuckles lightly. He tries to get himself to relax despite how Harry's slowly pressing against him, languidly pressing their groins together. "Doesn't matter, babe."

"Of course it does," Harry says with a frown. Aaron stiffens when Harry's hand travels down and plays with the buttons of his jeans. "How am I supposed to make you feel good if I don't know the stuff you like in bed?"

Somehow, those words, Harry's movements, _everything_ happening right now feels off. That line sounds rehearsed like he's said it so many times that it just comes naturally. Aaron wants Harry—of course he does. In any way Harry will allow him. But right now, it just doesn't feel right. Harry's drunk on wine, he just met Aaron's family for the first time, and now they're alone in Aaron's childhood bedroom, warm breaths mingling together in the dark.

Carefully, Aaron takes Harry's hand that's working on his buttons and rests it above his head on the wall. Harry sighs, smiling softly, as he raises his other hand so that both his hands are above him, his wrists crossed. 

Aaron caresses his arms and leans in to kiss him softly. He murmurs against his lips, "You don't have to make me feel good, Harry. Just seeing you smile is enough to make my day. You're tired from the drive and sleepy from dinner, so why don't we just lie in bed, hm? Be my little spoon?"

Harry lets out a breath that sounds like relief. His shoulders fall, and his eyelids start drooping, as though he finally allowed it. "That sounds good, actually."

"Great. Let's change into some pajamas and go to bed, yeah?"

Once they're in more comfortable clothes, they fit themselves in Aaron's twin sized bed. Aaron presses his back along the wall and opens his arms for Harry. Harry looks beautiful as always—cheeks red, eyes glossy from sleepiness and the wine, his hair a tangled mess of curls. He crawls under the covers and presses his back to Aaron's chest. Aaron wraps an arm around his waist and pulls him close.

"Love you," Aaron mutters against the nape of his neck.

"Love you too," Harry says sweetly, intertwining his fingers with Aaron's hand on his stomach. "I also love your family."

"And they love you too."

There's a beat of silence wherein all Aaron hears are their deep breaths. Then, Harry says quietly, "Can I, um, ask you something?"

"Sure, baby. What is it?"

"I'm just curious...is your dad not around anymore?"

Aaron's been expecting the question, so he says easily, "Mom divorced Dad after Cindy was born. Don't remember much about him, aside from that he cheated on Mom. Cindy and I used to go to his house regularly for visits when we were younger, but that stopped eventually. Haven't seen him since I was a freshman."

Harry hums. Aaron can't help but wonder about Harry's Dad, too. He knows, from the tidbits he's heard from Gemma, that their father wasn't a good man. That their father is the person to blame for the shit Harry went through. It makes Aaron grit his teeth in anger—because how can a parent ever allow his child to end up like that?

"When my Dad died," Harry starts off, apparently following the same train of thought Aaron is, "I felt...relieved. Empty, but I didn't cry. Maybe a bit of sadness because I would miss those few good mornings when he'd play music loudly in the living room while Mom prepared breakfast. But...he always scared me, and Mom always cried because of him, so I thought, maybe it's a good thing he's gone, anyway."

Aaron nods against his neck, tightening his hand around Harry's. Harry never opened up about his family to Aaron, and though Aaron's heard some stories from Gemma, it's different when it's coming from Harry himself.

"He killed himself," Harry continues. He says it so easily, as though he's just talking about the weather. That alone is a testament to the amount of fucked up shit Harry has already seen that saying those words don't even affect him anymore. "He was a gambler, yeah? A bad one. He loaned money from Logan's family to pay his debts. When he realized he couldn't pay Logan back and that Logan's men will never stop harassing him until he does, he just, shot himself in the head. They say they found his body beside a canal." Harry pauses, taking a deep breath. "He was a coward. Never cared about us, about what the consequences will be. Always so selfish."

Aaron swallows past the lump in his throat. Harry was so young—he didn't deserve any of it. Aaron will always wonder why the best people are handed the most fucked up cards in life.

"Mom didn't take the news as lightly as I did," Harry murmurs. "Drugs. That's what she always turned to when she got stressed. When Dad wouldn't come home for days straight. Instead of buying food, it's heroin she gets. So when the police told her that her husband was gone for good, well. You know where she is now. In rehab for the hundredth time. That's why it's cruel, what they did to me in the whorehouse. Injecting heroin into me. I was so scared I'd end up like Mom. I still am."

Aaron's chest aches from how Harry's voice wavers. Aaron presses a kiss to his shoulder.

"I was the one to find her," Harry continues, her voice small. "When she overdosed. I was the one to call for help. They took her into the ambulance and I stayed back at the house because I needed to bring money and clothes to the hospital. I was—I was panicking. I felt so alone." Harry sniffles, so Aaron urges him to turn around and face him. Harry moves easily until they're facing each other. Aaron wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. "Then Logan's men came. They heard about Dad's suicide and were pissed that he can't pay for his debt anymore." Harry takes a shuddering breath. "So, they told me I had to pay for my father's debt. I cried and told them I didn't have any money. This one guy—I still remember his face, he had a black eye and his head was shaved. He had a gun. He pressed it against my temple and dragged it down my cheek and neck. Then he said, 'well, good thing you're pretty.' I didn't know what that meant back then, but it still scared me. I was _terrified._ "

Aaron squeezes his eyes shut when his vision goes blurry with tears. Unbidden, an image of Harry's younger self surrounded by men with guns, cornered and trapped makes rage boil under his skin. He pulls Harry into him and lets the younger boy bury his face in his chest. Aaron holds him tightly, anger and sadness and utter hopelessness clashing within him as his chest tightens.

"It's over now, babe. It's over," Aaron says, his voice shaky. "I love you and you're safe now. It's over."

Harry's body trembles against him. His words are muffled and garbled as he says, "It's so fucking unfair. Now I can't even—now I can't even be _normal_. Now I have to be fixed. Fuck them. _Fuck_ them."

"Shh," Aaron pulls away to take Harry's wet face in his hands. He looks him straight in the eyes when he says, "You're perfect, alright? Anything you want to change about yourself, that's just to improve the amazing person you already are. Nothing, and I mean _nothing_ , can change that. You're strong and beautiful and kind, that's why I'm in love with you."

More tears flood down Harry's cheeks. He just nods, hiccupping, and Aaron has to lean in to kiss him softly, hoping that it's enough to prove to Harry that he means every word he said, and hoping that he'd feel even the feelings Aaron can't turn into words.

"I want you to tell them," Harry says quietly, sniffling between words. When Aaron gives him a questioning look, he continues. "Your family. Or, um, your mom, at least. You can tell them about—about how I used to be a prostitute and all that."

Aaron watches his face closely, and he looks like he means it. "Mom doesn't have to know. It's not any of their business in the first place—"

"Of course it's her business, I'm dating her son," Harry points out with a sad smile. "I just—I don't think I can be the one to tell her, but I want to be honest and open, because that's what you deserve. If—If she has an issue with it, which would be understandable, I want to prove to her that I can still be good for you. That's all."

His mother wouldn't have an issue with Harry's past, Aaron knows for a fact, especially since she sees Harry's good effect on Aaron. His mother wouldn't care, and would probably just end up being more productive over Harry than anything. But he nods, because Harry needs this, and if he's comfortable enough for other people to know about his unfortunate past, maybe it's a sigh of progress and acceptance.

"I'll tell her," Aaron says softly, kissing his forehead.

Harry holds tightly onto him and Aaron holds him back just as tight. In the midst of their tears and warm, wine-stained breaths, Aaron catches Harry's small, barely-there smile. 

For tonight, it's enough.


	18. Chapter 18

Aaron trips on his own feet and nearly falls face-first onto the ground, but luckily, he feels Harry's hand on his arm who keeps him upright. 

He hears Harry cackle, so he swats at him as best as he can while being blindfolded. "Harry, can't I just do this without the stupid blindfold?"

"No! It's part of the surprise!"

Aaron sighs, faking exasperation. He holds his arms out in front of him as he slowly moves forward. When Aaron picked Harry up from the bakery, Harry insisted that he should go up to the apartment first because he has to "set something up." Curious and amused, Aaron humored him and watched as Harry left the car and disappeared into the apartment building. About fifteen minutes later, Harry returned to the car with a blindfold and a blinding smile.

Aaron put on the blindfold outside their door, unable to help his smile when Harry nervously flitted around him and guided him inside. Right now, Aaron thinks they must be standing in the living room. He can smell a melting candle, and a suspiciously mouth-watering dish he can't put his finger on.

"Alright, can we hurry up, then? I'm very intrigued about this little surprise of yours," Aaron says. Harry doesn't say anything, but helps him sit down on a chair. The food smells much closer now, making his stomach rumble.

"Okay," Harry says quietly, sounding a bit breathless. "Okay. No laughing, alright? This is supposed to be romantic."

Aaron nods. "Of course, babe. Promise."

He feels Harry behind him as the younger boy undoes his blindfold. Aaron blinks his eyes, his gaze lands on the table in front of him—a red cloth is draped over it, three lit candles sitting in a metal holder, two full plates of pasta for the two of them, and a bottle of wine sitting in the middle.

Aaron twists in his seat to look at Harry who's still standing behind him. The boy looks nervous, his lower lip trapped between his teeth as he stared expectantly at Aaron. Without another word, Aaron stands up and kisses him hard on the mouth.

"Baby, this is amazing," Aaron says, grinning.

Harry's face breaks into a smile. "Do you—do you like it?"

"Yes, Harry. I love it."

"I asked Daphne for help with the pasta recipe. Um, the wine is also her recommendation, so, sorry if it isn't the stuff you usually drink—"

Aaron wraps his arms fully around his waist and pulls him flush against his chest. He looks down at him and says, "No apologizing, Harry. This is amazing. Thank you, love."

Harry nods, his dimpled smile appearing. "Okay. Let's eat?"

"Please. I'm starving."

Harry swats his chest lightly. "Stop acting like I don't feed you several times a day."

Aaron laughs. "Of course not. I would be dead without you, Harry Styles. I owe you my life for every meal you prepare for us."

Harry looks satisfied. He moves out of Aaron's hold and sits down on his chair, gesturing for Aaron to do the same.

Once he's seated, Aaron takes Harry's hand that's resting on the table. He kisses the back of his palm. "Love you."

Harry rolls his eyes, but Aaron doesn't miss the blush high on his cheeks. "Shut up and eat."

"Yessir."

Hours later, they're cuddled up on the couch, watching an animated film. Harry's warm and cuddly in his arms, the younger boy's hair tickling his nose. 

Aaron's eyelids are heavy, and he's about to go for a nap when Harry says, "Mom comes out of rehab tomorrow."

"Oh? I didn't realize it was so soon."

"Me neither." Harry yawns. "Um, Gemma found a place for her. It's a small apartment near Gemma's place. She thinks we should be there for a small housewarming gathering."

Aaron nods slowly. "What did you say, babe?"

Harry shrugs. "I said I'll think about it."

"Whatever you decide, I'll be here to support you." Aaron kisses his hair.

They're silent again after that. Aaron watches the side of Harry's face, and then eventually looks past him to watch the movie. Aaron doesn't know what's happening in the movie aside from the fact that it's a musical with songs that sound like they came straight out of a Disney movie. It's fun, though. It doesn't require that much attention, and it's more of a background noise more than anything. Harry doesn't like movies that can catch him off guard, may it be with explosion scenes, violence, or plot twists. Aaron isn't going to risk Harry being uncomfortable, so if he has to watch animated movies with Harry for the rest of their lives, so be it.

"I'm sorry," Harry's voice suddenly cuts through the silence in the room. He sounds slightly choked up that Aaron is immediately more awake, leaning up on his elbows so he can see Harry's face. 

"What for?"

"It shouldn't be like this. You just introduced me to your Mom last week. Ideally I should introduce you to mine as well. But—god, she's nothing like your mom who's nice and warm and welcoming. _My_ Mom is—I don't even know her. Not anymore. And maybe it makes me a bad son to say this, but I don't want to know her anymore." 

Aaron presses his lips together. It's been a week since they visited Aaron's house for Harry to meet Mom and Cindy. As Harry asked him to, Aaron told his mom about Harry's past the morning before they left when Harry was still deep asleep in his bedroom. As expected, Mom took it all very well, having to excuse herself to go to the bathroom afterwards. The next time she came out, her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. She gave Aaron a hug and asked him to promise her that he'll take good care of "your sweet boy Harry" no matter what.

When it was time for Aaron and Harry to leave, Mom pulled Harry into a tight hug, her eyes slightly wet. She whispered something to Harry before kissing his cheek and waving goodbye. Harry probably already gathered from that encounter that Aaron's Mom already knew about his past. He seemed overwhelmed by her support, though, and he tearily told Aaron just as much on their drive back. And now—Harry's comparing their mothers and feeling guilty about it.

He looks down at Harry and arranges them on the couch so that Harry's head is in his lap. Harry's face remains passive as he stares at the TV with a clouded gaze.

"I understand where you're coming from. And no, it doesn't make you a bad son. If you want to distance yourself from her, that's okay."

"She probably doesn't even remember me," Harry mutters. Then, his eyes suddenly widen. He looks up at Aaron and says, "She still thinks I'm with Logan."

Aaron clenches his jaw and takes Harry's hand. "I believe so."

"She doesn't know I was a prostitute."

Not entirely sure where Harry's heading with this, Aaron just nods quietly.

"Must be nice," Harry says bitterly. "Being so blissfully ignorant. What you don't know can't hurt you, can it?"

Aaron mulls over his thoughts for a moment, then says, "Do you not want to tell her about it?"

Harry thinks for a moment, then says, "I don't think I can tell her about it. But I want her to know. Maybe I'll just ask Gemma to do it for me. I just—I don't want to face her yet. Whenever I see her face, I'm brought back to that night when I found her unconscious on our kitchen floor, covered in her own puke." Harry scrubs a hand down his face. "I'm also—I'm still mad at her. For not caring. For being—being _weak_. She's my mother. She was supposed to take care of me, not the other way around. Or at least it would've been nice if I had her by my side. But no. She's selfish. She just _had_ to be selfish."

Aaron can't say he blames him at all. If he were in Harry's shoes and his own mom couldn't protect him when she was all he had, of course he'd hold a grudge against her. Especially considering the hell Harry's been through.

Harry looks up at him, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "I still love her, though. I can't not love her. I want her to be safe and healthy, but it'll have to be in a place far away from me."

"I'm proud of you," Aaron says. "For knowing what you want and talking about how you feel."

"Yeah, well." Harry chuckles humorlessly. "It's a start."

"It is." Aaron leans down to kiss his forehead, then the tip of his nose, his cheekbone, then his lips. "Proud of you."

"Thanks," Harry murmurs before pulling him down for another kiss.

×××

Aaron's jittery with nerves the night before his engineering licensure exam. It's 6PM and his hands are itching to grab his reviewer and read. However, Harry strongly suggests against it.

"You shouldn't study the day before an exam, it's scientifically proven. Everything you've learned is in your head already, all you need to do is to rest and relax. Overworking can get you into more trouble than you'd think," Harry tells him from where he's busy frying bacon in the kitchen. They've run out of food and they're both too lazy to go out and buy something, so they decided to just have bacon and eggs for dinner.

Aaron notes how Harry's shirts aren't hanging off his frame anymore, or at least not as bad as before. He's put on a bit of weight these past few months because Aaron likes to ask for food quite often, and he makes sure that Harry eats along with him every time. Harry still takes those vitamin supplements he's been taken since he stayed at Gemma's, and it seems to be finally taking effect. 

He pads over to the kitchen, wraps his arms around Harry's waist and tucks his chin over Harry's shoulder. Harry flashes him a smile before turning back to the pan.

"I know. I just have a lot of nervous energy," Aaron says with a sigh.

"You're going to kill it. You've been studying hard for months, right? All those formulas and shit must be hardwired into your brain by now," Harry says.

"I really do hope so."

Harry dumps the crispy bacon onto a plate and carries it to the dining table. Aaron remains draped over his back just to be annoying, weighing Harry down.

"Aaron," Harry says with a laugh. "I'm going to drop the food if you don't get off!"

"Oh but I'm relaxing, H, just as you told me to," Aaron croons, tucking his face in the crook between Harry's shoulder and neck and playfully biting at his skin there.

" _Aaron!_ " Harry cries out, giggling. His entire body is vibrating as he tries to get away from his hold, but Aaron only holds him tighter and starts tickling his sides.

Thankfully, Harry manages to put down the plate of bacon without dropping and breaking it before turning around to face Aaron in an attempt to fight back. Harry's breathy giggles and surprised laughter fills the apartment, and it's enough to make Aaron's cheeks hurt from smiling.

"No fair!" Harry pants when Aaron picks him up and tosses him on the couch, straddling his hips and tickling his sides. Harry's face and neck are red from laughter as he flails his limbs around, trying desperately to protect himself from Aaron's fingers. 

"Look at that, I'm extra relaxed," Aaron says, laughing as he continues his attack and Harry writhes beneath him, his chest heaving.

"Can't breathe! S-stop!" Harry says between giggles and large bouts of laughter. "I swear to god—!"

"Alright, alright," Aaron says, pushing away from where he's hovering over Harry and resting on his haunches on the other end of the couch. "I'm a merciful man, you may take your break."

Harry takes deep breaths as he lies there, looking utterly debauched, staring up at the ceiling with his clothes rucked up and halfway up his chest. Aaron cackles.

"Fuck off," Harry says weakly, still not moving from where he's sprawled on the couch. "My ribs hurt."

"Aw, sorry baby," Aaron says teasingly, crawling over him so that he's hovering over the younger boy's body once again. Harry's eyes shine with mirth as he looks up at him. Aaron leans down and kisses his stupidly pink lips.

"You know," Harry breathes out when their kiss turns a bit heated, their hands scrambling and pulling at each other's clothes, warm breaths mingling together, "I know a way to make you relax."

Aaron just hums as trails kisses down Harry's jaw and neck. 

"It'll be a good luck charm in a way, too," Harry murmurs, a small whine leaving his lips when Aaron sucks a hickey on his neck.

"Yeah?" Aaron pants, feeling unbearably hot all over. That's his cue to slow down, then. He feels Harry grip his hair while Aaron goes back to kissing him on the mouth, but softly this time. Aaron's shorts have become uncomfortably tight, and he's already thinking about the quick wank session in the bathroom he's gonna have to take when Harry suddenly sits up and pushes him back so that Aaron's sitting now, his back resting against the couch's arm rest.

"What—" Aaron starts, but it turns into a gasp when Harry sits down on his lap and grinds his ass down on his half-hard crotch. 

"Shh." Harry wraps his arms around Aaron's shoulders and kisses down his neck, continuing the languid movements of his hips. "Let me do this for you, please?"

Harry's body language tells Aaron that he wants this as much as Aaron does. Harry's pupils are blown, his cheeks a dark shade of red, his body thrumming with arousal. They've been together for months, and ideally, Aaron wouldn't think twice before agreeing and letting a pretty boy on his lap do what he wants. However, Aaron knows to be more careful. He knows how Harry's been forced to do things he never wanted for years, and Aaron can't risk doing that to him.

So, he gently grips Harry's hips to stop his movements. Aaron ignores his stiff cock and instead caresses Harry's jaw, softly saying, "You sure you want this, babe?"

Harry looks him straight in the eye. There's a second of silence when Aaron thinks Harry might shake his head no and run off into his room, but then Harry clenches his jaw and nods firmly. There's bright determination in his eyes as he leans in to kiss Aaron. Aaron allows himself to get lost in the heat of Harry's mouth again, licking over Harry's bottom lip until the younger boy opens up, then he's exploring Harry's mouth, every crevice and corner—

Suddenly, Harry pulls away with a hesitant expression. Aaron rubs a hand down his back, frowning. "You okay?"

Harry swallows. "You want to fuck me, right? I promise I'm clean. Even when I was with Logan, he made sure I was clean because he didn't want to lose clients. My last check up was like a week ago, I can show you the—"

"That won't be necessary," Aaron says, keeping Harry in place when he tried crawling out of Aaron's lap. Aaron tucks a loose curl behind his ear. "And yes, H, I do want you. Of _course_ I do. I never wanted anyone more."

Harry bites his bottom lip and nods. "That's—um, okay. You're sure?"

"Are _you_ sure?" Aaron asks gently. "No pressure, alright? We can still get each other off, we don't have to actually fuck, yeah? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

Harry's face softens at that. He shakes his head and cups Aaron's stubble-covered jaw. "I've been thinking about this for a while now. I want to do it properly. Thank you for looking out for me and all that, but I promised myself I wouldn't let them ruin this for me. I won't let those monsters ruin what we have," his voice shakes slightly. "I don't want sex to be something traumatic for me. It feels like I'm making them win, you know? I want to work through this. I want—I want to think of _you_ when I think of sex, not those nameless people I couldn't give less of a fuck about."

Aaron blinks away the moisture in his eyes, smiling shakily as he kisses Harry's temple. "Okay. Okay, love."

"It already feels different," Harry says. "I feel safe with you. I feel warm, loved. Cared for. You can never make me feel the way those people did, Aaron. Never."

It's like a breath of fresh air, to be reassured like this. It's always been a niggling fear in the back of his mind—that he'd somehow remind Harry of the people who abused and took advantage of him. That he'd unintentionally hurt him or scare him, or make him cry. Aaron would never dream of doing that, so hearing those words from Harry's own mouth means a lot to him. It means everything.

"Let me take you to bed, yeah?" Aaron murmurs. When Harry nods, he picks him up and starts walking. Harry wraps his legs around his waist and clings to him, burying his face in Aaron's neck. Aaron can feel their heartbeats when their chests press together.

He gently puts Harry down on the bed and kisses him. Harry dips his hands under Aaron's shirt and runs his hands up and down Aaron's back. 

"Wanna see you," Harry breathes out.

Aaron pulls away from him, taking in the way his long locks are sprawled on the white pillow, his eyes bright green but dark with lust, lips bitten red and raw. Aaron pulls his shirt off and feels Harry's searing gaze on his chest. He leans down and lets Harry run his hands down his chest, feeling the younger boy trace a few tattoos with his finger.

"I always liked your tattoos," Harry says as he thumbs at the tattoo below Aaron's neck. Hastily, Harry removes his own shirt and lies back down. In contrast, Harry's all milky white skin, but up close, Aaron can see several burn marks and scars. Harry's watching him closely as though he's trying to read Aaron's mind. Aaron knows that Harry worries about Aaron thinking he's not enough, so he breathes out reassurances onto his skin.

"You're beautiful, baby," Aaron says as he leans down to softly kiss every single scar. He imagines that his warm kisses will burn away every unwanted touch and every rough grip. He prays that from now on, Harry's skin will only remember this—soft touches and delicate kisses, because it's what he deserves.

He can feel Harry breathing harder, so he noses down his stomach and kisses his hip bones. He plays with the waistband of Harry's joggers before slowly pulling it down along with the boxers underneath. Harry stills. Aaron crawls up his body again to kiss him.

"Is this okay, Harry?" Aaron mumbles against his lips, and Harry's nodding before he even finishes his sentence.

"Yes, please," Harry gasps. "Want you."

Aaron kisses the corner of his mouth twice before moving down again to fully get rid of Harry's clothes. Then, Harry lies before him, naked and beautiful and _perfect_. Aaron runs his hands up and down Harry's shapely thighs and strokes Harry's hard cock.

"Fuck, Aaron, _please_ ," Harry whines. When Aaron looks up at him, there are tears rolling down his temples. Aaron wipes them away.

Wordlessly, he retrieves a the lube and a condom from his bedside table before draping himself over Harry's body once again. He kisses Harry deeply until the younger boy's much more relaxed, before gently spreading his legs apart. Aaron doesn't stop kissing him as he trails his lubed fingers up Harry's thighs, grazing his balls a bit before massaging his rim.

"Fuck, fuck." Harry hooks his left leg over Aaron's hip while his right leg falls open. "Touch me."

So he does. Aaron is careful and thorough as he opens him up—one, two, three fingers deep. Harry mewls under him, gripping onto whatever part of Aaron that he can. Soft, quiet words are spoken between them. Harry gasps and tears spring to his eyes when he gets overwhelmed, but they're good tears, Harry assures him.

"You sure?" Aaron has to ask.

Harry nods, his eyes slipping shut and his mouth making a small 'o' as Aaron's fingers hit a certain spot. "Yes," he gasps. His eyes are glassy again. He smiles, though, as if to reassure him and pulls Aaron closer so he can whisper into his ear, "I wanted my first time to be like this."

Aaron doesn't even want to know how Harry's actual first time went like. He kisses Harry hard and says, "I love you. I love you so much."

Harry smiles. "Love you too, babe." He wiggles his ass a bit, then says cheekily, "Now put your dick in me."

Aaron sputters out a laugh against his lips. "Really sexy, Styles."

"I know," Harry says nonchalantly, but Aaron can still see how worked up he is. He doesn't make him wait any longer as he puts the condom on and gently presses against Harry's entrance.

"Tell me if it hurts, tell me if I have to stop and I will," Aaron breathes against his mouth. "Promise?"

"Promise," Harry says, his nails digging into Aaron's shoulder when he pushes in deeper. Harry's head falls back on the pillow, exposing the long expanse of his neck as he groans. "Do it. 'M ready, please."

Aaron bottoms out and they moan in unison. Harry wraps both legs around his hips while his arms cling to Aaron's shoulders. Aaron looks down at him, looking for any sign of discomfort or fear or disgust—but all he finds is Harry's pleasure-ridden gaze.

Aaron rolls his hips lightly, making Harry's mouth hang open. Aaron peppers kisses on his face—on his eyelids, his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, his chin. 

"Move, you can move," Harry says breathlessly. "Fuck. Make me come, Aaron, please. Oh my god."

Aaron sets his arms on either side of Harry's head and pulls out halfway before pushing in again. Harry's legs tighten around him while his hands scramble to grip the bed sheets. Aaron sets a pace, closing his eyes when Harry's tight heat engulfs him. "Fuck, baby. So good. Love you so much."

Harry lets out a litany of "ah ah ah's" in time with Aaron's thrusts. The bed creaks under them as they move in tandem. They're kissing messily, but eventually they end up just breathing into each other's mouths as pleasure rolls over them in waves.

"Gonna— _oh_ —Aaron, I'm gonna—"

Aaron sneaks a hand between them and wraps it around Harry's leaking cock. Harry all but screams as he spills between them, tightening around Aaron and making him see white. Aaron comes into the condom about two thrusts later, still deep inside Harry, and they both come down from their highs at the same time.

He collapses onto Harry, tucking his face into the younger boy's sweaty neck. He feels Harry's hands petting his hair as they both pant. Despite his protesting muscles, Aaron slowly pulls out and lies down beside Harry. He gets rid of the condom and immediately turns to Harry, who's already on his side, watching him with a grin.

"Was that okay?" Aaron gathers Harry up in his arms, ignoring the sticky mess on his stomach. He kisses Harry repeatedly, making him giggle.

"More than okay, silly," Harry says with a laugh. He looks so young like this—red-cheeked and smiling with sex hair. "I fucking love your cock."

Aaron groans, making Harry cackle.

"You have such a way with words," Aaron says, but he's also smiling. They're both grinning at each other, eyes bright like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

Harry wrinkles his nose and looks down at himself. "I should take a shower."

"Want me to wash your hair for you?" Aaron asks with a smile.

Harry hesitates. Quietly, he says, "I kinda want to shower alone, if that's okay? I—I need to scrub and all that. Sorry."

Aaron understands, of course he does. He feels guilty for not realizing that showering together might be pushing Harry a bit too far. Having sex is already a giant leap, but Harry still needs his coping mechanisms. Harry's specific shower routines may be one of those, and Aaron isn't going to ruin that for him.

"Of course, babe." Aaron kisses him as a form of reassurance because he knows how Harry can get. He knows that Harry might be feeling guilty right now, and Aaron doesn't want that.

Harry bites his lower lip. "Can you sit outside the bathroom?"

"Of course," Aaron says without missing a beat. It's a routine at this point and Aaron doesn't mind it. He stands up and pulls Harry onto his feet as well, making him stumble into Aaron's chest.

Aaron finds a night robe and puts it on while Harry gets his towel and clothes. They walk to the bathroom together, and as promised, Aaron grabs one of the kitchen counter stools and sets it down directly beside the bathroom door. He sits there and scrolls down on his phone, occasionally answering Harry's questions from inside the bathroom.

He hears Harry humming a tune beneath the sound of running water, making Aaron smile. When it's Aaron's turn to shower, the hot water is all used up, but he still finds himself smiling all throughout.

They fall asleep tangled up under Aaron's covers, warm and safe. To Aaron, it's paradise.


	19. Chapter 19

Aaron and Harry are the happiest they've been in a while. Aaron feels like their relationship is stable and that they're on the same page about most things.

There are still days when Harry lies in bed throughout the entire day, despondent and quiet. When the noise in his head becomes too much that he can't physically get out of bed to go about his day. Aaron is the one to call the bakery every time, informing Daphne that Harry isn't feeling well and that he'll miss today's shift. Thankfully, Daphne is a kind woman who treats Harry as family, so it's never an issue and she's always understanding.

There are also days when Harry dissociates. Aaron remembers one of the first few times they've spoken—it was when Harry walked into the café with that vacant look in his eyes. Immediately, Aaron led him to a seat and stayed with him until he was finally aware of where he was. Aaron remembers feeling so terrified and confused, but even then, his main goal was to help Harry and ensure that he was safe and well.

Nowadays, Harry just sits in one corner with distant, glossed-over eyes and robotically answers Aaron's questions. It's as if he's on autopilot. Aaron makes sure to stay close to him during his episodes, always keeping some kind of physical connection with him, may it be a hand on his shoulder or an arm around his waist. It helps anchor him to reality, bringing him back and "waking" him up, in a way.

When he asked Harry about his dissociation, Harry said, "I feel floaty when that happens. Like I'm detached from myself, you know? Like I'm watching everything from afar. It used to help me, when I was with Logan. Whenever I was with a customer, it helped me float away and blocked everything out."

Some days, Harry's more sensitive than usual. Some days, he cries for hours on end, locked inside the bathroom. There's progress, too, because he now opens the door for Aaron and allows Aaron to hold him and comfort him.

Randomly, Harry will bring up a memory and mention it in passing, such as a cologne he finds familiar because his client used to wear it. The nightmares come and go, but at least nowadays, Aaron's already beside him when he starts mumbling in his sleep. Aaron's caressing his face and whispering sweet nothings into his ear to end the nightmare before it even begins. Harry's always crying when he wakes up, but the look of relief that washes over his face when he sees Aaron next to him is enough for Aaron to think that things are alright.

Things are good, but they can be better.

Aaron's boyfriend, the strongest person he knows, is a survivor. He survived years of unspeakable abuse. Now he's here, surrounded by people who love and believe in him—people who are going to stick by his side for as long as they can.

Aaron makes it his life's mission that no other harm will come Harry's way. Never again.

×××

"Are you sure it's alright? It's not too sweet, is it?"

"Harry, I've already told you, it tastes good. Really good."

"Okay, but like, will the kids like it? Maybe they prefer it if it's sweeter? Or maybe I should've put more icing. Hold on, maybe there's some more left—"

"Babe," Aaron sighs, gently holding Harry's wrist when he tries walking into the kitchen for the umpteenth time. Aaron pulls the younger boy into him and kisses his pout away. "Rose and her friends will love it, okay? It's chocolate cake. Only miserable people don't like chocolate cake, and no kid is miserable, so you don't have to worry at all."

Harry's eyebrows are furrowed. He looks over his shoulder where the cake is sitting, which in Aaron's opinion, looks like it's made by a master baker when it was in fact just Harry's fifth attempt at baking one. Maybe Aaron's a bit biased, but he feels like he balances them out just right because Harry can be too harsh on himself.

"You sure?" Harry asks hesitantly.

"Yes, baby. A hundred percent."

With that, Harry's tense shoulders relax. He leans into Aaron's chest and hugs him back. His words are muffled against Aaron's shirt when he says, "You better drive carefully, mister, because if something bad happens to my precious cake on our way to the venue, you won't hear the end of it."

Aaron lets out a surprised laugh. He pulls away from their embrace so he can take Harry's face between his hands and raise an eyebrow at him. "Is that a threat, Styles?"

Harry rises up to the challenge and smirks. "Why? Are you threatened?"

He pretends to consider it, then he pushes Harry's cheeks together with his palms so that his lips are pushed out in an exaggerated pout. "I would be, but you're quite literally the least threatening person I've ever met in my life. Look at that adorable face!" Aaron laughs as he continues squishing Harry's face until the younger boy breaks free from his hold with a roll of his eyes.

"Maybe I'll grow a beard and mustache—will you be intimidated then?" Harry says, crossing his arms over his chest. Aaron catches his barely-concealed smile.

"Oh no, that'll mean I won't be able to do _this_." Aaron rubs his stubble-covered jaw over Harry's cheeks and chin. Harry laughs, still as ticklish as ever, and tries to push him away. Aaron playfully keeps Harry's hands at his sides so he can continue with his assault.

"You are—you're ridiculous!" Harry says between giggles. "Get off me you stubble monster!"

When Aaron pulls away, Harry's jaw and chin are pink from beard burns. Aaron cackles.

"What have you done!" Harry says as he stares at himself in the mirror, touching the pinkish patches on his skin from Aaron's stubble. But then he's laughing along with Aaron, apparently unable to help it.

"You look beautiful, babe."

"You are the most annoying person ever."

"You love it." Aaron flashes him a wide smile. Harry rolls his eyes and kisses his cheek as he walks past him.

"Whatever. Now, can we get the cake and the gifts into the car? We can't be late," Harry says, already walking towards the dining table and tying up the cake's box.

Aaron retrieves the gifts from their bedroom and puts them in a large plastic bag. They bought the gifts about a week ago after visiting the nearest toy store. Harry got a chess board and a scrabble game ("Mental exercise is good for kids, Ronnie!"), while Aaron got her an art set, complete with a drawing book, crayons, and pencils. Harry taught him how to properly wrap the gift but ended up wrapping it himself because Aaron's work was apparently "all crooked and messy."

They put everything in the car. Harry brings the cake to the passenger seat, placing it on his lap. They drive to the party venue, which is a McDonalds branch just a few blocks down. Gemma and Raymond's apartment was apparently too small for the flock of kids Rose will have over, who are mostly her classmates from school.

When they pull over in the McDonald's parking lot, Aaron notices how Harry wouldn't stop fidgeting around in his seat. Aaron reaches over the console and takes his hand, making Harry turn his head towards him.

"Babe, there's no need to be nervous."

Harry sighs. "I know. I just—I want them to like the cake. I want Rose to have the best seventh birthday ever."

"And she will." Aaron undoes his own seatbelt before removing Harry's as well. "Let's go inside and you'll see that I'm right."

So, they walk in hand in hand—the cake in Harry's grip while Aaron carries their plastic bag of gifts. Inside, Gemma and Raymond are directing a few McDonald's staff regarding the decorations. So far, there are pink and gold balloons in every corner, several tables draped with pink table cloths, and a long table pressed against the far wall with two boxed gifts, which Aaron assumes is where the gifts would go. So, they stride forward and place their gifts there just as Gemma turns around and notices their presence.

"You're here," Gemma says, walking towards them, her face lighting up with a grin. "Rose is outside with a few of her friends."

"Here's our cake for her," Harry says, handing over his beloved cake. 

Gemma takes it from him and removes the cover to see inside. Her eyes widen. "This looks great, H. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome." Harry smiles.

"Can we help out with the decorations?" Aaron asks. They're a bit early, so they might as well help out.

Gemma nods and beckons them to follow her. She makes a stop at a square table towards the end of the party area where she places Harry's cake, then she points to the wall-to-ceiling windows beside it. "We're supposed to hang up the 'Happy Birthday Rose' banner here, do you mind?"

"We'll do it," Aaron says, already shrugging off his coat.

"Great." Gemma claps her hands together, smiling. She looks over her shoulder and says, "Ray! Where's that banner? Harry and Aaron are going to hang it up."

In a flash, Raymond appears in front of them with a tired smile. He's carrying what Aaron guesses is the banner, but it's rolled up. Raymond greets them both, giving them quick hugs before pulling away. "Thanks for coming, guys."

"We wouldn't miss it," Harry says with a dimpled smile. Aaron wraps his arm around Harry's waist and lightly squeezes his hip.

Raymond drags some chairs over so Aaron and Harry can step on them on both ends while they hold up the birthday banner. Raymond stands a good distance away, instructing them to lower and bring up the banner about several times before declaring it straight enough. Aaron ties his side of the banner onto the hook and hops off his chair. He walks to Harry's side and holds his legs while the younger boy's face twists in concentration while tying the banner.

"All done," Harry says proudly after a while, grinning down at Aaron. Aaron helps him down the chair because he doesn't trust Harry's giraffe legs. Harry pecks his lips sweetly as a thank you.

Afterwards, they help Gemma with laying down the small pouches of giveaways on one of the tables. Aaron curiously takes a peak and finds an assortment of candies and chocolates inside.

"The guests are starting to arrive," Gemma says, squinting towards the glass door where kids and their parents are making their way towards them. They enrolled Rose at an elementary school in the area just two months ago, but as it is, Rose has already gathered a bunch of friends who adore her. It sounds very much like a Styles trait.

"Are we all set?" Harry asks.

Gemma nods. "Yup. C'mon, let's sit you down, yeah? I'll bring Rose in so she can greet her friends."

Aaron and Harry take their seats at the table nearest the front of the party venue, where Gemma, Raymond, and Rose will also be sitting later. Under the table, Harry takes his hand. Aaron smiles softly and intertwines their fingers.

The tables are all nearly occupied when Gemma appears with Rose in tow, who's wearing a beautiful blue dress—similar to Cinderella's dress, Aaron notes with a smile—and a crown atop her dark hair. Rose walks towards their table first, and Harry's immediately leaving his seat and crouching in front of her so he can pull her into a hug.

"Uncle Harry!" Rose says happily.

"Hello, Princess Rose. You look beautiful!" Harry says, pulling away so he can look down at her outfit. 

Aaron joins Harry and crouches beside him as well, but not before bowing exaggeratedly and saying, "Happy birthday, Princess Rose."

Rose looks absolutely thrilled. There's a healthy blush on her cheeks as she giggles. "Thank you!"

"Are you excited for your party?" Aaron asks.

"Very. My friends are here and they brought me gifts."

"Look over there," Harry says, pointing at the long table now filled with presents. "Our gifts for you are also there."

Rose grins, revealing her missing front tooth. She turns to Gemma, pulling at her blouse as she says, "Mom, can I open my gifts please?"

Gemma laughs. "No, baby. You can do that later, at home. For now you have to greet your friends first."

"And, we have to eat first," Raymond chimes in, sliding to Gemma's side. "Uncle Harry and Aaron brought a chocolate cake for you."

Rose gasps. "I love chocolate cake!"

"Uncle Harry baked that himself," Aaron says, smiling at Rose's look of awe. "I've tasted it and it's wonderful."

"Mom, Dad, if I'm not allowed to open my presents, can I eat the cake at least?" 

"The cake is for dessert. How about a cheeseburger first, hm? You can eat while you say hi to your friends." Raymond takes his daughter's hand and starts leading her to the other tables.

They hear Rose's chirpy "okay!" before she's surrounded by kids and their parents with beaming smiles.

"The clowns are going to start entertaining the kids soon, I'll be back," Gemma tells them before walking off.

The program starts only ten minutes later when all the guests are settled at their tables. Cheerful kids' songs are blasted through the speakers as their host, a man in a clown costume, steps out and greets everyone. They play a few games with the kids such as a stop dance and a trivia quiz. The winners get special prizes from Rose, who's grinning from ear to ear through it all.

Eventually, the kids' excitement settles down and they're all served food. Gemma, Raymond, and Rose join them at their table again as the waiters bring out kiddie meals for the kids and regular meals for the parents and grown-ups.

It's not long until Rose gets bored with sitting with a bunch of old people. She grabs her food and happily saunters off to her group of friends who have all raided a single table up front. They watch Rose as she leaves with smiles on their faces.

Harry reaches over and squeezes Gemma's hand. "This is an amazing party, Gem. You and Raymond really prepared for it."

"We've saved up quite a bit because we really wanted a celebration for her seventh birthday," Raymond says. "Rose is a sweet kid who wouldn't mind having a tub of ice cream as her birthday celebration, but we just thought she deserves this. You only turn seven once."

Gemma nods enthusiastically and opens her mouth to say something, but then her eyes land on something over Aaron and Harry's shoulder and a look of surprise washes over her face. They all turn towards what she's looking at—or _who_ , rather—and Aaron immediately sets a comforting hand on the center of Harry's back when he sees that it's Anne walking towards their table with a small, hesitant smile.

Aaron's never met Anne before, but he can definitely see her strong resemblance with her kids. She looks healthy even though she's quite thin. Her eyes are bright but nervous as they flit between Harry and Gemma, only glancing at Aaron and Raymond momentarily.

When Aaron sneaks a glance at Harry, the younger boy has his head down. He's staring at their joined hands on his lap, and even from this angle, Aaron can see his jaw clenched tightly. He scoots his chair closer to Harry and kisses his temple.

"Mom," Gemma says in a surprised tone. "I, um. We didn't know you were coming."

Anne huffs out a quiet laugh. "I've missed out on my granddaughter enough, I couldn't miss her seventh birthday."

"Of course," Gemma says. "We just thought you weren't feeling very well."

"I'm much better now."

There's an awkward beat of silence, and then Raymond kicks into action and stands up from his seat, smiling as he offers his hand to Anne. "We're glad you're here. I'm Raymond."

Anne shakes his hand with a tight smile. "Hello, Raymond."

Aaron clears his throat, ignoring his nerves as he also stands and introduces myself. "Hello, I'm Aaron."

Anne looks at him almost calculatingly, but then she breaks into a kind smile. "Nice to meet you, Aaron."

A new chair is brought to their table, wedged between Raymond and Aaron. Harry still refuses to look up from his lap.

"Grandma!" Rose returns to their table and gives Anne a hug. Anne's face lights up immediately when her eyes land on her granddaughter.

As far as Aaron knows, Anne and Rose are well-acquainted. Gemma brought her over to Anne's new place ever since she got out of rehab. Gemma said something about making Anne "see her granddaughter more so she'll rethink taking a single dose of drugs again the next time it crosses her mind." So far, it seems to have worked.

Gemma asks someone to bring Anne some food, which they immediately do. Before she could even dig into her meal, though, Rose is already saying, "Time for dessert! Please, Mom? I want to taste Uncle Harry's cake!"

"Sure, your dad will help you, alright?" Gemma says, elbowing Raymond slightly. On cue, Raymond stands up and leads Rose to the front where the cake is placed. They light the candle and start singing "Happy Birthday" to her as she blows it, making a wish.

"That cake looks good, Harry," Anne says. Her tone is careful and soft, as though she's afraid to spook him.

Harry presses his lips together but keeps his eyes on Rose. Gemma and Aaron exchange nervous glances. As per Harry's request, Gemma was the one to tell Anne all about Harry. She told Anne how she was fooled to believe that Harry and Logan were boyfriends, when in fact her son was being held captive against his will. Aaron doesn't know how Anne took the information, and Harry doesn't either, but from the way Anne is looking at her son right now, Aaron could at least see guilt in her eyes.

The awkwardness continues when Harry doesn't even acknowledge her. Anne seems to get the message, as she simply nods once and looks down at the table. Her face says: _I deserved that._

"I, um. I got a job three days ago. I'll start on Monday," Anne says out of the blue. Aaron doesn't miss the way her eyes dart towards Harry, as though she's waiting for a reaction. He doesn't give her one.

"That's good news, Mom," Gemma says. "Where are you going to work?"

"Well, I'll be a street-sweeper." Anne laughs self-deprecatingly. "It's a bit hard to get a job when you've been in rehab repeatedly, but it's something. It'll help me find my footing and all that."

"It is, Mom. I'm proud of you," Gemma says, and she sounds like she means it.

Anne smiles wide at that. Once again, she glances at Harry, but he still refuses to look at her. Aaron tightens his hold around Harry's hand. Harry squeezes back.

They're saved from more conversation when Raymond returns and gives them their cake. Since everyone is preoccupied with their food, the tension in the air dissipates slightly. Gemma and Raymond are telling them a story about Rose's upcoming play with her class when Harry leans in and whispers in his ear, "I'm going to the bathroom, be right back."

Aaron's about to offer to come with him, but then Harry's already out of his chair and is walking past the tables towards the bathroom sign near the door. Aaron watches him until he makes it inside before turning back to the table and rejoining the conversation.

"How is he?"

Aaron belatedly realizes that it's Anne who spoke, and that Anne's talking to _him_. He flounders around for words for a bit, then he says, "Harry's a fighter. A brave one. He's getting better."

Anne smiles ruefully. "That's good. That's—" she takes a deep breath. Her eyes are a bit wet now. "Come to me if I can help with anything, alright? I know he doesn't want to talk to me, and he has every the right to feel that way. I've let him down in so many ways, and I regret it every day. I love my son, I always have. I'm not going to force him to rebuild our relationship. Never. I just—I just want him to be happy. If being away from me makes him happy, then so be it."

Aaron notes the quiver in Anne's voice and her shaky breaths. She's trying hard not to cry. Aaron's chest feels looser now that he knows that Harry's mom isn't a complete asshole. She feels guilty and probably realizes how fucked up everything was now that she's sober enough to see it. Aaron doesn't allow himself to feel sympathy towards her, though, because she has yet to prove herself—to prove that she's going to change for good and that she'll be the good mother that she forgot how to be.

So, Aaron gives her a slight nod. "I'll let you know if there's anything you can do to help."

Anne nods. She looks more determined when she says, "You take care of my boy, will you? Gemma tells me you're good to him. I hope that doesn't change. Harry is a good person. He only deserves things as good as himself."

Aaron can't agree more. "I promise, Anne. I love him and he makes me happy. The least I can do is do that for him as well."

She looks satisfied with his answer. She gives him one last smile before turning back to Gemma.

Aaron lets out a breath. He finishes his cake and exchanges a few texts with Steven and Casey who ask him to greet Rose for them. They also ask about Harry, and that's when Aaron realizes that Harry's been gone for a suspiciously long time.

He frowns and looks around the room. Harry isn't anywhere, so he's probably still in the bathroom. He quietly excuses himself as he leaves the table and heads to the bathroom. His frown deepens when he walks in and finds it empty.

"Harry?" Aaron says, pushing away the irrational side of him that's already thinking of the worst possible scenarios. He swallows and ignores his increasing heartbeat, walking past the stalls and checking the space under the doors to see if it's occupied.

Empty.

Empty.

Empty.

Aaron's hand trembles as he reaches for his phone, immediately dialing Harry's number. He stares into his terrified eyes in the mirror as he tries to calm down, because how the _fuck_ can this be happening, it can't be, why would Harry disappear like that—

His head snaps to the side when he hears a phone ringing. Harry's phone. It's coming from one of the stalls.

"Harry? Harry, it's Aaron," he rushes to the very last stall and tries pushing it open. It's locked. "Harry? What's going on?"

He pockets his phone and is considering getting a stool from outside so he can peek over the door and figure out what the fuck is happening when the door to the stall suddenly opens. 

Aaron practically rips it out of its hinges as he rushes inside. Harry's sitting on the toilet cover, his arms wrapped around his knees as he buries his face in his arms. He's crying. He looks small and terrified and he's crying.

"Baby, what happened?" Aaron's hands are still shaking as he leans down, trying to get Harry to look at him. He soothingly caresses the sides of Harry's arms to get him to loosen up a bit from how tightly wound he is, but it doesn't work. Harry whimpers and shakes his head without lifting his head from his arms.

"Okay, okay—how about we go somewhere else, yeah? We can go to the car, we'll talk there," Aaron says breathlessly, his throat feeling progressively tighter for every word that leaves his mouth. He manages to get Harry to stand, but the younger boy just falls into his chest, his face hidden by his hands. Aaron blinks away the wetness in his eyes and holds Harry up, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his left hand on the back of his head. "I got you, Harry. It's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay. You're gonna be alright."

He feels Harry shake his head against his neck. Harry grips the front of his shirt tightly, desperately, as a heartbreaking sob rips through his lungs. His words are garbled and muffled when he says, "I can't go out there, please don't make me."

"Tell me what happened and we'll fix it, alright? What happened, Harry?"

"I _can't,_ " he cries. "Why is it so unfair? Why can't I have _one_ good day?"

"Harry," Aaron says gently, willing himself to calm down, because if he wants to get Harry through this, he needs to be calm and rational. "It's gonna be okay—"

"It's _not!"_ Harry yells, pushing away from Aaron until he bumps against the side of the stall. For the first time, he's no longer covering his face with his hands. Aaron can see his red-rimmed eyes, wet and blotchy cheeks, quivering lips. Aaron's chest aches at the sight. "He has a kid, Aaron! A _kid_. I didn't know, and I never cared, but now—"

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Aaron practically begs as he reaches out for him again. He takes Harry's face in his hands and wipes away his tears. He presses their foreheads together and shakily whispers, "Please tell me what happened."

Harry tightly grips Aaron's hands that's on his face. His voice cracks when he says, "My old client recognized me. I went to the bathroom and he was here, washing his hands. He—" Harry lets out a pitiful cry. "He's one of the kids' fathers, Aaron. His _wife_ is also outside, celebrating Rose's birthday. I helped that man _cheat_."

Aaron's back goes rigid. He doesn't recognize his voice when he says lowly, "Did he do anything to upset you? I swear to god if he tried _anything—"_

Harry shakes his head, sniffling. He pulls Aaron back until they're wrapped up in each other's arms once again. "He—he panicked when he saw me. He told me not to go anywhere near his wife and son. He—he said someone like me shouldn't even be at a place like this—"

Aaron clenches his fists and steps away from Harry. "He's a fucking idiot, he doesn't know what the fuck he's saying. Tell me what he looks like and—"

"They already left, alright?" Harry looks so tired and broken that the fight leaves Aaron's body before it even fully consumes him. "He was clearly terrified that I'd tell his wife or that they'd just figure it out by seeing me. He and his family left. He told me not to follow them."

Aaron takes a deep breath. He has to close his eyes for a moment. It has never occurred to him that Harry could possibly bump into his old clients. That he has to live with that fear and uncertainty every single day he leaves the apartment. He hates this—he hates that the world won't leave Harry the fuck alone as if he hasn't already been to hell and back. It's not _fucking_ fair.

"I want to go home," Harry's voice trembles. Aaron immediately snaps his eye open and gathers Harry into his arms. Harry cries into his shirt, his slight frame trembling against him. Aaron feels so defeated.

"Of course, babe. Whatever you want," Aaron manages, pressing a kiss into his hair. "I'll get you out of here. I'm so sorry this has to happen, I'm so sorry."

Harry only cries harder. Aaron tightens his hold on him and swears that he's never going to let go.

×××

Two days have passed since Rose's birthday party. Two days and Harry hasn't been himself. He's quiet and skittish and so, _so_ sad that Aaron can feel it exuding from him in waves. He doesn't talk much and doesn't eat as much as he used to, either. This morning, when Aaron told him that his licensure exam results will be posted tomorrow, Harry barely looked at him as he lay there in bed, staring intently at something apparently invisible to Aaron's eyes.

Seeing one of his old clients hit him hard. It sent all the progress they've achieved tumbling down to the ground. It's always one step forward and two steps backwards. 

It's 8 PM and Aaron didn't go to work earlier because he didn't want to leave Harry, who's been in bed all day, alone. Tommy was understanding, of course. He asked Aaron to send Harry some love from him and Casey. And to tell Harry that they miss him dearly.

Aaron misses him too. He wants to see Harry's dimpled smile again, his uncontrollable laughter when Aaron digs his fingers into his sides, and his bright, green eyes. He misses him, but that doesn't mean that he loves the quiet, glassy-eyed Harry any less. He loves Harry—whether he's laughing or crying for hours on end, whether he's shaking from laughter or from fear, whether he's gone for days and days and Aaron can't seem to reach him at all. Aaron loves him—there are no "buts." Every part of Harry, he wants to hold close to him and never let go of. Every part of him, Aaron embraces.

Aaron sighs quietly as he puts his phone down. He returns to the stove and continues stirring the soup, glancing at their bedroom where he can see the lower half of Harry's body under the blankets. Aaron played a movie on his laptop earlier—another Disney original because Harry loves the songs in them—and placed it on the bedside table that Harry was facing. Harry watched him, his eyes distant and passive. Aaron asked him if he liked the movie he picked, and Harry nodded his head after a three-second delay. That was hours ago, and now another animated movie is playing, and Harry still hasn't eaten much of anything today.

He transfers the soup into a ceramic bowl and sets it down on the counter to let it cool a bit. He sits there and lets his mind wander. He remembers that he should give Gemma a call. After suddenly leaving Rose's party with no explanation, Gemma was worried and confused. Aaron told her the gist of what happened in the bathroom through text, but he knows that she's still waiting for him to call her and is hoping to have a lengthy talk with him. Yesterday, she asked if she could come over, and when Aaron asked Harry if he was okay with that, he immediately said no. So, Gemma's probably worried out of her mind right now, but Aaron also needs some time to think, so she'll have to be a bit more patient.

Aaron puts the soup in a tray and carries it into their room and settles down beside Harry on the bed. The movie now playing is Moana, and though Harry's awake and staring at the screen, he doesn't seem to be truly watching it. Aaron puts the tray down on the mattress and gently rubs his hand up and down Harry's arm.

"You should eat before you sleep, babe." Aaron looks down at him and his position hasn't changed since he left him an hour ago. When Harry turns on his back to look at him, Aaron expects to see a pair of vacant, glossed-over eyes. He's surprised when Harry blinks up at him, slightly teary-eyed but clearly lucid.

"Shh, it's okay," Aaron murmurs, leaning down to drop a kiss on his forehead. "You're doing great, yeah? Here, let me help you sit up—there we go." He fixes the pillows behind Harry's back and head so that the younger boy is comfortably sitting against the headboard. Harry watches him, his eyes tired and dim as Aaron sets the tray on his own lap and attempts to spoon feed him.

"I can do it," Harry says quietly. He takes the tray from Aaron's lap and moves it over to his. He stirs the soup and slowly lifts the spoon up into his mouth. He licks his lips and makes a face as though he doesn't like the taste, but he still takes another spoonful, so Aaron counts it as a win.

Aaron sits there beside him as Harry slowly finishes his dinner. Aaron can't help but smile—Harry's trying, he really is. Aaron can tell how draining it must be to even do the simplest task when the weight on your shoulders becomes too heavy, but Harry perseveres. He's so fucking strong that Aaron's in awe of him every single day.

He takes the empty bowl from Harry and kisses the tip of his nose with a quiet "I'm proud of you." He makes a move to leave bed, thinking of putting the bowl in the sink before he forgets, when Harry's hand closes around his arm.

"Please stay." Harry's voice is small and his eyes are imploring. Aaron immediately scoots back towards his old spot next to him and puts the tray down on his nightstand. The dishes can wait.

Harry seems to be in the mood for cuddling, which is a good sign, so Aaron wraps his arm around his waist and lets the younger boy rest his head on Aaron's shoulder. For a while they just sit there, breathing in sync as the movie continues playing in front of them, though Aaron sees it as nothing but white noise.

Harry breaks the silence with, "I don't deserve you."

Aaron can never get used to how Harry says things as untrue as that so easily. He grips Harry's waist tighter. "I guess you're right. You deserve the entire world and I'm but a man."

Harry sighs. He turns his head a bit so he can look up at Aaron, and even with tear-streaked cheeks and dim eyes, Harry is the most beautiful person he's ever laid eyes on. However, Harry pretends not to hear him and says, "You deserve someone normal. Someone who won't hold you back."

It's quite a common occurrence now for Harry to break his heart with just a few words. Firmly, he says, "That's you, babe. I deserve you."

Harry shakes his head. Aaron's about to launch into a speech about what an amazing person he is and how he wouldn't give him up for the world when Harry continues, "Not yet. I'm not that person yet. But...I'm willing to try. I want to try, so that I can really say that I deserve you and that you deserve me."

Aaron frowns slightly. He looks down at Harry and finds him smiling slightly. "What are you trying to say, H?"

Harry bites his lip and sits up. He takes Aaron's hand, and Aaron can tell from his tense shoulders and deep breaths that he's nervous. He's nervous about what he's going to say next, and it makes Aaron nervous, too.

"I, um." Harry clears his throat. He looks up and meets Aaron's eyes. "I've been thinking. About getting professional help."

Aaron's heart is suspended mid-air as he waits for Harry to continue.

Harry takes a deep breath. "I've—I've decided to give it a try. See how it goes. I want to get better. For you, for Gemma, for Rose." Aaron reaches up to caress his cheek, making Harry smile. "I know I said before that going to therapy makes me feel weak, or like, makes it feel like Logan's winning. But—" Harry sniffles as a tear drops. Aaron is right there to wipe it away. "But god, lately, I'm not feeling like a winner either, so. Might as well, you know?"

Aaron knows he'll never find the right words to tell him how happy and proud he is, so he just pulls Harry in for a bruising kiss. He tastes Harry's tears, his quiet sobs, his small laughter. Aaron pulls him into his lap, never wanting to leave. Harry pulls away and they're laughing against each other's mouths, breathless and tearful. 

"If you're going to get better," Aaron says shakily, looking up at Harry like he's his entire world, "promise me you'll do it for you, yeah? Not just for me or Gemma or Rose—for _yourself_ , H, because you deserve it, alright? You deserve it."

Harry nods against him, a fresh wave of tears dropping onto his red cheeks. Voice tight, he says, "Okay, I will. I promise. I love you so much."

"I love you too, baby. I'm so proud of you."

They stay there, tangled in bed and within each other's arms, whispering warm declarations of love and wiping each other's tears away. It feels momentous. It's a step forward, towards the right direction. Aaron can already taste their future, Harry's hearty laughs and bright eyes, sunnier days and longer nights wrapped up in each other.

The world can throw anything at them, but it will never win. It's a slow, grueling process, they both know, but for Harry's warm kisses and careful hands and bright smile—it's all worth it.


	20. Chapter 20

_Three Years Later_

Aaron stands in front of a mirror, fixing the lapels of his suit. He's quite nervous, he'll admit, but he also can't wipe the smile off his face. 

Today is going to be a great day.

When he leaves the bathroom, he's greeted by a bustling crowd of women and dark-colored dresses and men in immaculate suits and gelled-up hair. The pews are slowly getting filled up as the guests enter the chapel gradually, bringing chatter and laughter along with them. Aaron walks through the crowd and finds Steven near the front pews, grinning from ear to ear.

"Sorry I'm late," he says with a grin, patting Aaron's shoulder.

"No problem, man."

"You nervous about later?"

"A bit. I'm more excited, though."

"I feel the same way. C'mon, I wanna introduce you to someone," Steven says, wrapping a hand around his arm to lead him away from the middle of the aisle and towards one of the pews. 

A dark-haired lady with almond eyes stands up as they approach. She smiles, revealing perfect white rows of teeth, and Steven immediately slides up to her side and wraps an arm around her waist.

"Aaron, I'd like you to finally meet my girlfriend—Jessie. Jess, this is Aaron, I'm sure you've heard of him. He's my best friend."

Aaron's heard a lot about Jessie Lee because when Steven's in love, he never shuts up about it. As far as Aaron knows, Steven met Jessie about three months ago, but they only became an item roughly a month ago. He never got to personally meet her, though, and he's thrilled to finally be face to face with the woman who now owns his best friend's heart.

"Nice to meet you, Jessie." Aaron shakes her hand. 

She grins. "Likewise. Steven's been missing you like crazy. I'm just glad you've reunited once again." She leans in, conspiratorially whispering, "He gets very whiny when he hasn't seen his friends for a while."

Aaron barks out a laugh. He likes her already.

"Alright, that's enough backstabbing for the day," Steven says with narrowed eyes, though there's a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"No backstabbing, Steven. Just pure facts." Jessie pushes her hair off her shoulder, her eyes twinkling as she sits back down on the wooden pew.

Steven rolls his eyes in obvious fondness. As the two of them sit down, he says, "Do you see what I have to deal with every day?"

"Finally found your match, I see," Aaron says gleefully.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"What's there to enjoy? I don't think she's even properly started yet." Aaron meets Jessie's eyes over Steven's shoulder and winks. She laughs.

"Brilliant. My best friend and girlfriend teaming up against me. Wonderful."

Aaron grins. He hears a familiar pair of voices coming from the chapel entryway. Aaron breaks into a smile when he finds Casey and Tommy hand in hand, mirroring their beams. Casey's wearing a beautiful silk dress with thin straps hooked over her shoulders, accentuating her collarbones. Her hair is done up in a bun, with a few tendrils of hair framing her face. Tommy looks like a proper gentleman in his dark brown suit, his hair is shiny and well-kempt under what Aaron guesses is a whole lot of hair gel.

"C'mere!" Steven says, as boisterous as ever, pulling both Casey and Tommy into a hug. Aaron embraces them tightly, exchanging "how are you's" and "I missed you's." Steven introduces them to Jessie, who immediately charms them like she did Aaron. In no time at all, they're all comfortably chatting with one another, falling into the old habits of their friend group while Jessie seamlessly fits in like she's been there all along.

The ceremony starts about half an hour later. The guests go quiet as the violins take over, the harmonic melodies echoing in the chapel. Everyone stands up and turns towards the door as it opens and the flower girls start to pour in. 

Eventually, Rose walks in with a flower basket in her hand, looking all grown-up in her purple dress. Cindy is beside her, in her own light-blue dress, smiling widely. Rose has taken a liking to Cindy and she looks up to her like she's her older sister. Mom and Gemma are more than happy about this friendship. As they walk past Aaron, they shoot him a grin, and he gives them a nod. Aaron spots his mother across the aisle on the other pew, whose eyes sparkle as she watches her daughter.

Not long after, the bride is finally revealed.

Gemma is in a long white gown with endless ruffles, her dark hair falling beautifully onto her shoulders as she walked down the aisle. Next to her is the person who can make Aaron's jump and make his smile widen at an instant. Harry is wearing a white lace shirt underneath his dark blue suit that hugs his curves and edges beautifully. He offers his arm to Gemma, who takes it with a dazzling smile. The Styles siblings walk down the aisle, both stunning and grinning wide. Harry meets his eyes as he approaches their pew. Aaron's heart stutters in his chest when Harry mouths "I love you."

Aaron mouths back, "I love you, too."

Raymond is standing at the end of the aisle in a smartly pressed black suit. He's teary-eyed and his smile is shaky as Harry lets him take Gemma's hand. Gemma kisses Harry's cheek before he steps away. Then, the couple is face to face, whispering to each other, hands tight in each other's hold.

The priest starts talking and Harry appears at his side. Aaron immediately takes his hand and steps closer to him so that their shoulders and thighs are pressed against each other. Steven, Jessie, Casey, and Tommy whisper their hello's, which Harry returns with a dimpled smile.

And then it's official: "You may now kiss the bride."

The room breaks into applause as the newly-wed couple kiss. Harry's hand tightens around his, and when Aaron glances down at him, Harry's crying. It's happy tears, of course. Still, Aaron pulls him into his chest and wraps his arms around him.

"So happy for them," Harry murmurs against him. "Fuck. I just lost a bet. Gemma said I was going to cry and I told her I wasn't."

Aaron laughs, pulling away to look at Harry's face. His nose is red and his eyes are wet. He looks absolutely beautiful.

"How much do you owe her?"

He sniffles. "She wants me to make her a family portrait for free." Harry rolls his eyes. "As if I wasn't already about to do that."

Aaron's chest swells with pride at the reminder that Harry gets to do what he loves now. Harry took up an art course and now works as a freelance artist. He's insanely talented in sketching and painting and Aaron will forever be proud of him. Now that Aaron's making steady income from the engineering firm he's been hired in, they don't have to worry about finances anymore. Harry gets to do what he wants, with no limitations or restrictions. Aaron is forever by his side, supporting whatever it is that brings him joy.

He leans in and pecks Harry's lips. It brings a blush to Harry's cheeks. Aaron's so in love, and he's ready to stay in love for the rest of their lives.

×××

The reception takes place at an open courtyard with cobblestone floors and an enchanting cluster of trees and flowers. There's a stage set up in front while circular tables draped with white tablecloths dot the open space before it. The flower arrangements in the center of each table are beautiful and well-put together, all thanks to Harry's passionate planning and suggestions. Over the past few months, Harry and Gemma were heavily involved in planning the wedding. Harry was particularly invested in making sure that the decorations and food were well up to his standard. Tonight, they see all their hard work pay off, as the guests enter the venue with big smiles and wide eyes.

Along with arts, Harry has kept up his baking and cooking hobby. As a result, he was also the one to bake Gemma and Raymond's four-feet-tall layered vanilla cake which Aaron is sure tastes absolutely delicious.

Steven, Jessie, Casey, and Tommy all join him at their table. They greet Mom and Cindy and start up a casual conversation with them. Aaron saves Harry a seat beside him as he chats with his friends. The guests cheer politely when Gemma and Raymond make their entrance accompanied by upbeat music. They sit down right next to the stage at their special table.

Aaron takes a sip of his champagne and looks around the courtyard. He spots Harry at Anne's table, giving her a hug. It warms his heart. It took quite a bit of time for the two of them to be close again, but once they did, it seemed to switch a flip in Harry. Aaron knows how much Harry values and loves his family, so it only makes sense that his reconciliation with Anne was the last step in his growth.

It's a journey in itself to have watched Harry bloom into the man he is now. Aaron was by his side during his first therapy session, during every moment after that when the younger boy puked into the toilet, crying and trembling. He was at every support group meeting, holding Harry's hand and listening to everyone's stories, including Harry's. Some days, Aaron got nightmares after those meetings, choking on a sob at the vision of Harry being abused and hurt—but just as he did for Harry, Harry was there for him every time. Some days were harder than most, and some nights were longer and seemingly darker, but they worked it out. 

Now, Harry doesn't lock himself up in the bathroom anymore. He doesn't need his shower routine with extensive scrubbing and bottles of body wash. Even though he still needs to feel clean some days, it's not as bad as it used to be. Harry still cries and grieves for the years he's lost and the phantom hands he can still feel on his skin, but it's okay. They both know that Harry will never be fully "better," but Aaron doesn't need him to be. All he needs is who Harry is now and no other version of him.

"Babe," Harry's wine-stained breath touches his neck. He twists around in his seat to find Harry grinning down at him. "They're setting up the stage now." He turns to the entire table and says, "Are you ready to play?"

A chorus of "Yes!" erupts from the table. Harry laughs and bends over to wrap his arms around Aaron's shoulders, moving in close so that their cheeks are pressed into each other.

It's a funny story, really. Gemma wanted a live band, and of course Harry suggested that they make The Red play. Aaron and his friends haven't played in years, so they've had to practice and rehearse, but other than that, they're nothing but thrilled to be able to play again. They chose a bunch of romantic, slow songs with a few pop-rockish ones that they can play when everyone's a bit looser from the alcohol later tonight.

"Let's go!" Steven drags them away from the table and towards the stage. Aaron turns to Harry and kisses his smiling lips, whispering in an exaggeratedly seductive voice, "This one's for you, baby."

Harry honks out a laugh and slaps a palm onto his mouth, mortified by the sound he just made. Aaron winks at him and joins his other friends on stage.

They're introduced by the host and the audience gives a polite round of applause. They start off with the slow songs as people eat, while some decide to slow dance in the open space in the middle of all the tables. Around their fourth song, he spots Harry twirling Rose around, the sound of their laughter reaching Aaron and making him smile as he taps his drumsticks to the beat of the song. Harry meets his eyes and grins wider.

Eventually, they let the band rest and play a slow song on the speakers instead. He finds Harry in the crowd and immediately wraps his arms around him, leaning in close to feel his warmth. They dance quietly, with nothing but their warm breaths and soft hands in mind. Even when the song switches up to an upbeat tempo, they remain pressed together, lost in their own world, eyes stuck on each other.

There's a bit of a commotion at the front when Gemma throws her bouquet and several bridesmaids all leap to catch it. Aaron sees Harry's small smile.

"Did you wanna join?" Aaron asks, smirking. 

Harry looks at him, his eyes as soft as ever. "I don't need a bouquet to tell me something I already know."

It's moments like this when Aaron's reminded of how in sync they are with each other's thoughts, how no one gets left behind, and how they're both on the same page. They both know they'll get married one day, and every day that passes is one step closer to it. They're comforted by the fact that this time around, _they're_ responsible for their lives—they control their fate.

And control their fate they will, because Aaron plans to love Harry and raise kids with him until the day he's gray and old.

Aaron presses their lips together, and from the feel of Harry' warm breath and soft lips, Aaron already knows that Harry wants the exact same thing.

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Writing this fic helped me through lockdown and I am forever proud of this work.
> 
> Hope you liked it!


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